Little Flame
by AbsoluteAnarchy
Summary: Sasori is a young student. He is pessimistic, stubborn, and complex. To him, the world is cruel; people value what they see with their eyes, not what they feel with their hearts. But perhaps he'll learn otherwise. A blond criminal with a "player" attitude will aim to bypass his walls, one by one. After all, how cold can this little flame be? WARNING: DeiSaso & others. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

Everyone has a very peculiar friend.

Sai was that friend.

He sat across from Sasori, his face set in a smile. He didn't speak and he didn't move; he looked like a literati painting.

The two boys were currently taking the bus home together and, even though Sasori had known Sai since the very first day of school, he still found such an expression to be deeply unnerving. Sai had never been the best at social interaction; his true feelings were never obvious and his mannerisms rarely matched his words. He was a bit like a computer in that sense, always set to default.

'You shouldn't listen to them,' he said, suddenly, moving to adjust the lapel of his blazer. 'They have no idea what they're talking about.'

Sasori stared at him for a moment. Then he gave the hood of his jacket another anxious tug forward, ensuring that his face could not be seen. It was his shroud; the one thing that kept him hidden in public. He knew exactly what Sai was talking about and it made his gut churn. 'You don't understand,' he muttered.

'Yes, I do,' said Sai. 'I have eyes; you're most certainly not ugly, Sasori. Have more confidence.'

Sasori shifted uncomfortably and averted his gaze. That statement made him seem like an insecure teenage girl. His cheeks burned with shame. 'Then why do so many people tell me otherwise?' he asked.

'Young people are cruel,' answered Sai, simply, and his tone put an end to any further discussion.

Sasori sighed and turned to look out of the window. The buildings of his neighbourhood rushed by, dull and grey, whilst the sun set behind them. The sky was a lovely mixture of yellow, and red, and the darkest of purples, and light streamed through the gaps between the houses, bathing the bus compartments in an orange glow.

But even as the warmth hit his cheeks, still Sasori did not smile. He knew Sai was trying to help, but he also knew that his opinion would never be swayed.

He _was_ ugly.

At the very least, he was unattractive enough for people to constantly point it out. Whether those people were of a good or bad nature was irrelevant; they were simply telling him a truth that he'd had known for a long, long time. It was something to be accepted. He wasn't strong, he wasn't tall, and he wasn't overly masculine. In fact, he held very few characteristics that were intrinsic to manhood; his luck had been very poor when it came to genes, and he certainly wasn't the robust hunk that society favoured. Instead, he was stick-thin, pasty, short, and his eyelashes meant that he had an androgynous look about him.

There was also another feature that needed to be taken into account.

He gripped his hood tighter and his eyes darted from side to side. He knew he was acting like a paranoid fool but he couldn't stop himself. He had to routinely scan his environment, to make sure he wasn't being judged or scrutinised. It was a curse he had to live with; he couldn't stand being watched.

Sai noticed this act of nervousness, but kept his lips firmly pressed together. He disliked bringing up the subject more than once; focusing on negativity wasn't exactly a morale booster.

'Excuse me, hm.'

The two boys looked up to see another young male, likely no more than twenty years of age. He was trying to make his way through the aisle of the vehicle, presumably to find another seat.

Sasori cringed.

The first thing he noticed was an absurd amount of long, blond hair. The second thing he noticed was that this person was the embodiment of everything he despised.

Thick, black kohl lined one of the man's eyes, the other being concealed by his woefully lopsided fringe. Sasori wasn't entirely sure if he had meant to style it that way or not but it looked dreadful regardless, and so thick with product. His skin was tanned and his outfit consisted of fitted jeans and a very revealing fishnet shirt. Sasori could see his nipples beneath the material. It was shameful; he'd been blessed in appearance yet he had still resorted to lewd fakery. He looked like a male stripper; it was an insult to the decent people who hadn't been so lucky.

'Excuse me,' he repeated, gesturing to the bus aisle.

Sasori looked down and noticed that his school satchel was blocking the man's path. Suddenly a little embarrassed, he scooped it up and held it in his lap. The number of homework assignments and text books made this difficult, but he tried to make the motion seem as graceful as possible.

The blond stranger gave his thanks with a nod and smile. He then made his way to the back of the bus, sitting down on the opposite side of the vehicle and only a few seats behind Sasori and Sai. As he passed, the smell of smoke seemed to follow him.

Sasori immediately turned to his friend, his expression one of both shock and disgust. 'Did you see his clothes?' he whispered, outraged.

Sai's brow furrowed. Unlike a normal boy of sixteen, Sasori disliked the "player" image. This was fine but he always felt the need to express his opinions, even in public. 'You need to get used to it; it's what people wear nowadays.'

'I can't. I have little hope for humanity if people like that are allowed to breed. I'm ashamed of my generation.'

'You always think like that; no wonder you're so depressed. Stop being such a pessimist.'

'Sai, I'm being truthful. That's what life is like. It isn't my fault if everyone else is too ignorant to see how pathetic we're becoming,' grumbled Sasori. 'The human race is deteriorating.'

Sai didn't reply; he couldn't think of anything to say to that. Even if he did manage to think of a valid argument, Sasori would counter it with a testy comment and start ranting about everything wrong in the world. He was intelligent, cynical, and stubborn beyond belief; winning any dispute would be nothing short of impossible.

At this point the bus had lumbered to a stop, opening its doors to welcome the newest passengers. A group of students boarded, their shirts scruffy and their ties undone. There was something about the way they held themselves that suggested nothing but arrogance, and one of them held a pack of cigarettes in his left hand. They began to make their way to the far end of the bus, so as not to be caught messing around by the driver.

To do that though, they had to pass the two boys.

Sasori saw them coming and sunk further into his hoodie. He begged fate not to let them notice him. Sai looked down at his feet, the same desperate plea running through his mind.

But fate can be a cold, cruel mistress, and they were spotted instantly.

As the students passed, Sasori bore the brunt of their oral onslaught. 'Is that the butters kid you were talking about?' whispered the female of the group. Her bleached hair had been put up in a bun, creating a shell-like structure that sat upon her head, and her pink lipstick seemed almost neon. She also wore fake eyelashes.

One of the boys snickered. He wore a backwards baseball cap and a single diamanté in his left ear. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Faggot.'

Sasori heard this but remained silent. He didn't want to provoke them, or get in trouble for that matter. He felt a burning sensation well up behind his eyes and calmly raised a hand to cover his face. Crying wasn't something he did often; it was contrary to his character. Nevertheless, he couldn't risk anyone seeing him in such a state; not only would he look worse but he would also attract unwanted attention.

Sai opened his mouth to say something but soon closed it again. He was powerless in this situation, and stepping in would only divert the flow of insults towards himself.

'Fucking pussy,' said the boy. He tapped his cigarette packet with his fingers, almost tauntingly.

'Hey.'

The cluster of teenagers turned to face the voice. Sasori slowly lifted his head, keeping his hand in place.

It was the blond stranger from earlier. Up until now he'd been listening to music; headphones were dangling loosely around his neck and the song could still be heard, an unidentifiable buzz emerging from the speakers. It was most likely a dubstep track.

'Would you mind keeping it down, hm?' he asked.

The boy's face contorted. 'Piss off.'

'I would but I'm on a moving bus, you dumb fuck,' said the blond, now looking back down at his iPhone. It was suspiciously expensive-looking for someone of his attire. 'Stop pissing about, hm.'

The posse of students looked taken aback. They were unsure of what to do; they could take on anyone from their school, beating them down either physically or verbally, but a member of the public? That was a completely different playing field. Slowly, grudgingly, they backed away, like a pack of dogs that had been cheated out of their sport.

Sasori watched them depart. They took their places at the back of the vehicle, sitting down with their eyes glued to their phones. They were probably using Facebook. Sasori had never seen the point of social websites; to him they were just tools that people used to stir shit up and post pointless information; things like what soap opera they were watching, what foods they were eating, and where they were going on holiday. They seemed to think of themselves as celebrities, that the universe revolved around them and that everyone needed to know what outfits they thought were cute.

Pushing this thought aside, Sasori looked to his saviour and scowled. People like that were normally stupid, egotistical, bratty individuals; they held no concern for others. They were only interested in sex, money, drugs, and alcohol. So why had this one come to his aid? It was unlikely that he cared. A more believable explanation would be that he hadn't wanted his music to be interrupted…

The stranger sensed that he was being watched. He straightened up and flicked his long hair, as if to show it off, and he sent Sasori a sidelong, heavy-lidded glance. His eyes were a rich, forget-me-not blue.

Bewildered and disturbed, Sasori scooted closer to the window, his eyes wide. Having never received a look like that before, he found it quite rude and disconcerting, and it made his face hot. He frowned and turned back to Sai, only to be met with an irritatingly stupid phrase.

'You judge too soon, Sasori. Not everyone is as cruel as you think. Have more faith.'

Sasori snorted derisively. Faith in what? A single good deed couldn't compensate for a lifetime of bad decisions. That blond had probably dropped out of school with zero qualifications, and there was also a good chance he'd abandoned his pregnant girlfriend. That was his type; reckless, flirtatious, and irresponsible.

By now the bus had arrived at its next stop. Sai rose from his seat, gathering his rucksack and black umbrella as he did so. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' he said.

Sasori gave him a nod of acknowledgement. He watched his friend leave, and then turned to stare out of the window once more. It would be quieter now but he secretly preferred that; social interaction was strenuous and he loathed having to pretend to care about other people's business. Moreover, it wouldn't be long until he came to his own stop.

In fact, it only took another twenty minutes, which was good as he hated waiting.

Sighing, he stood and hauled his satchel onto his shoulder. The weight caused his small frame to lean a little to the right and made movement tough. Fortunately the bus stopped directly outside his house and he wouldn't have to carry his belongings far; otherwise he'd end up with a painful stitch. He made his way to the exit, one hand holding his hood in place.

'You dropped something, hm.'

Sasori turned to see the stranger, who motioned to the floor.

A book had fallen from Sasori's satchel. It was an art book, thick and slightly gnarled around the edges; a sign that it was well-used. Dots of paint were scattered along the front cover, along with a few pencil markings, and a splodge of red partially covered the name tag.

Sasori hastily bent down to pick it up, muttering a "thank you" under his breath as he did so.

The stranger nodded and watched the young boy step off of the bus. Without fully realising it, and as sometimes happens, he memorised the location of Sasori's house, as well as several other trivial details. The roof needed re-shingling. a wooden birdhouse had been placed on the front lawn, and flowers had been planted here and there. A post-box resided outside the building, its paint peeling due to age.

His eyes wandered to one of the windows. Two silhouettes could be seen and, judging from their aggressive body language, they appeared to be in an argument. Shrugging it off as a family quarrel, he plugged in his headphones once more and smiled, enjoying the rays of sunlight.

It was none of his concern.

The bus set off again, and he began to nod his head in time with the beat.

* * *

_I've had this in mind for a long time. It's going to be quite...personal for me in some ways, and I wanted to share it with you. I decided a while ago to take all my negative thoughts and feelings, and turn them into something positive, something that can be enjoyed. The result was this. :) _

_I'm going to try and stop the major OOC in this one. XD_

_I do hope you liked it. :)_

_Love ya. :D_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

It was hideous, utterly hideous.

Its ugliness was off the scale.

And the worst part, the part that hurt Sasori more than anything, was the fact that _he_ had created it. He was responsible for giving birth to it, for bringing it into the world. Alright, the world was pretty crappy already, but that was no excuse to _add_ to it. Groaning, he shut his art book and pushed his chair as far from his desk as possible. He couldn't bear to look anymore; his work was a shitty monstrosity.

It deserved to burn in a fiery inferno.

He gave a shaky sigh and covered his face with his hands. Heat spread through his body as he tried to calm himself down and he clawed at his own cheeks, leaving temporary red markings. This happened every evening. From seven onwards, sometimes until midnight, he would attempt to create something worthy of praise, something he could be proud of. He would barricade himself in his bedroom and forcibly beat his creativity over and over again. He would sit alone and struggle, pushing and pushing until his mind collapsed in on itself.

It was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

He knew he was capable of so much more, but his passion had vanished and nothing could get him in the mood, not even classical music or _Yankee_ candles. Perhaps it was the assignment itself; he had been given the debilitating task of drawing an onion. As it was, the odd little vegetable sat next to him, shedding its skin everywhere and being a pain in the arse.

Sasori glared at it.

He was sick and tired of drawing such bland, uninspiring objects. He had taken Art on the understanding that he would enjoy the subject, that he would be able to learn and gain something from it. Instead it had drained him; he held no feeling for it anymore. It certainly didn't help that Sai excelled in this particular field; when placed next to him, Sasori felt rather amateurish.

'Fuck this,' he whispered, angrily, his voice cracking. 'Fuck this shit...'

Unlike most teenagers, he hardly ever cursed out loud; it was rude and forbidden, but right now he simply didn't care. He fell to pieces, kicking his desk and forcibly hurling the onion at his wardrobe. Art had been his one escape route! It had been his way out of life! They'd robbed him of his spark!

'Fuck you! Fuck you all!' he hissed, bitterly. Then he slumped in his chair, defeated and broken.

At least his grandmother and grand-uncle, Chiyo and Ebizō, were no longer around to hear him swear; they had left the house after their argument, probably to play Thursday's Bingo session. They always argued and they always left. Even now, at ten o'clock, they had still not returned.

Sasori ran his fingers through his hair. He had no choice; he'd have to just give up and retire for the night. Nothing was going to be accomplished in the next two hours and sleeping gave him a chance to forget his troubles.

He exited the room, avoiding his wall mirror as he did so.

He loathed mirrors and he resented Chiyo's decision to get him one. After all, why would he want to see himself? He was just as repulsive and boring as his artwork and, without his hood, his crimson hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Staring at his reflection would plunge him into an even deeper emotional turmoil, and it was because of this that he didn't bother to turn on the light in the kitchen; he didn't want to deal with the negativity.

So, enveloped by darkness, he went straight to the fridge, helping himself to a small glass of milk. He then stood at the back window, looking out into the garden and suckling like a baby lamb. Everything outside was cloaked in blackness and misery, and the trees were nothing more than giant, feathery silhouettes.

A police car could be heard in the distance, sirens wailing.

Sasori rolled his eyes.

Typical. The criminal would probably be given a year in jail. Then he or she would be released and allowed to wreak havoc again.

And the authorities would wonder where the hell they'd gone wrong...

Strangely though, the car drew nearer and nearer, until flashes of blue and red sprung over his garden fence. Sasori narrowed his eyes and set down his glass in slow-motion. He hadn't expected the vehicle to drive so close. It was no more than a few houses away from his own; dogs were barking and he could practically hear the officers shouting at one another.

It was at this point that the doorbell rang. Thinking his guardians had finally returned, he got up to answer it. They'd probably explain what was going on.

But, as he opened the door, it became apparent that this wasn't the case.

There, on the front porch, keeled over and panting, was the shadow of someone entirely different. They were leaning against the doorframe, too exhausted to stand on their own two feet, and their long hair drooped over their shoulders, a complete mess. They'd been running, and a great distance too no doubt.

Sasori found himself paralysed, rooted to the spot by fear. He stared straight ahead with wide eyes, his mind wiped blank; he had no idea how to react.

The figure, clearly male, took a deep breath and coughed twice before looking up. Their expression was dazed and pleading, and their voice was punctuated by gasps.

'Please... Please, kid, you gotta let me in, hm.'

* * *

_This part was short, but I hope you enjoyed. The next will be longer, don't worry. :D_

_Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I love ya! :3_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

Sasori hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound emerged. His bottom lip quivered.

This bizarre scenario had completely floored him.

Fed up with waiting, the stranger simply pushed past, kicking the door shut with his heel. He then drunkenly stumbled down the dark hallway towards the kitchen.

'Can I use your phone? Cheers, hm.'

Sasori snapped back to reality. All of a sudden he was petrified, so much so that he couldn't even scream. He was caught between the canine police unit and a possible murderer in his kitchen. Both were social situations.

And he was terrified of dogs.

It was like something from a nightmare; he was having trouble believing it. He turned to see the intruder fumbling with the telephone. Said device was positioned next to the kitchen doorway, meaning Sasori had an excellent view of everything that was going on. The man was hissing and cursing, and he angrily slammed his palm over the light switch. This illuminated the room and Sasori finally identified his visitor. It was the blond stripper, the one that had helped him on the bus, only this time he didn't seem as kind or as level-headed. In fact, he was living up to Sasori's initial judgement.

He yelled into the phone and the words he used were so angry, and so malicious, that Sasori felt sympathy for the recipient.

'No, Itachi, I didn't burn the whole thing! Fuck you! ...No, they didn't see my face, but I need you to pick me up... What do you mean you don't give a shit? I just ran cross country, you bastard!'

Sasori cowered in the shadows of the doorway, frightened. His whole body was shaking and he could feel blood surging through his veins. His palms were sweaty and he drew himself up onto the balls of his feet.

The stranger sighed in defeat, his shoulders sagging. 'Fine, I owe you a pack of Haribo, hm... The house on the corner, the one with the post-box out front; be here in ten.'

He set down the phone and looked around, taking in his surroundings properly. The kitchen was quaint but nothing special; a few bowls here and there, a sink, a couple of cupboards, and a discarded glass of milk. Eventually his eyes landed on Sasori, who'd withdrawn further into the shadows of the hallway, hunched over with his hands clasped.

'Yo, name's Deidara, hm.'

No response.

Deidara shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He wasn't used to dealing with timidity. 'Uh... You can come out. I mean, I know this looks bad and all, but I swear I'm not that kind of guy, hm...'

But Sasori was too busy formulating a plan. If he wanted to live, he would need power, and power came in the form of weapons. Unfortunately, the only "weapons" in the house were in the cutlery draw, which was situated across the room. It was risky, but if he could make it past his foe, he'd be able to grab one and defend himself. Then he could call the police over and put the whole incident behind him, maybe even get featured in the local paper.

Not that fame mattered.

There was just one small problem; he'd have to step into the light and reveal himself, including his hair. He took a small, tentative step forward.

Deidara grinned and flicked his wrist in a beckoning motion. 'That's it, hm. Come on; I ain't gonna hurt you...'

Sasori took another step, a little bolder this time. His heart was in his mouth and his eyes were wide; he could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins. With a third step, he was enveloped in the light of the kitchen.

And, as predicted, Deidara's grin vanished.

Sasori braced himself for an insult.

Now, most things in life are a matter of perspective. Every being on the planet has a different outlook, different thoughts and feelings. No two people are the same; if they were, the world would be a very mundane place to live in.

It was because of this small fact that Sasori didn't quite get the abuse he had been expecting.

Deidara believed he was looking at someone beautiful. He saw Sasori in simple terms; a boy in a school shirt, short and slender, with a pale complexion. He saw a face as well, one that was rounded but not overly so, with two cheeks and a delicate nose to match. He saw a pair of "doe" eyes; large, mocha, and vulnerable, with sweeping lashes.

He saw hair. It was a messy style, unkempt but in loveable way. Each lock was a lucid crimson and together they seemed to flicker, depending on the viewing angle; they shimmered from scarlet to auburn, and then to a deep chestnut-burgundy. No dye could be so vivid and no wig could be so silky.

It was like fire.

So Deidara switched on his charm. He smirked and clicked his tongue. 'Well hey, bae, hm.'

Sasori glared at him; the only thing worse than a direct insult, was mockery. He loathed insincere compliments; people knew he wasn't attractive, so they tormented him with lies.

It was time to make his move.

He roughly barged past Deidara, launching himself at the cutlery draw. There was an awful clatter as he looked through it, grabbing the sharpest knife he could find. Then he turned to his foe, brandishing it.

Deidara was recovering slowly, his palm pressed to his temple. 'Shit, why would you do that, hm?'

He was answered by a quick knife jab, which he only just managed to avoid.

'Hey, watch it, hm! Li'l ball of rage! Jeez!'

Sasori swished the blade back and forth, slashing wildly at the air. He pictured himself as a noble warrior, or a _Resident Evil_ agent, but in reality he was completely uncoordinated. After about a minute of random flailing, Deidara managed to catch his wrist, disarming him in the process. The knife hit the floor and he screeched indignantly, panic setting in.

A hand was clamped over his mouth.

'Woah! Kid, calm the fuck down, hm! I ain't gonna hurt you!'

Sasori squirmed violently, his cheeks red from strain and his chest palpitating. He felt like a mouse caught in the paws of a cat. Everything was a blur and his mind was spinning like a deranged carousel. He could smell smoke again, and oh good Lord, where had those hands been?

He began to hyperventilate.

'Hey, hey, deep breaths, hm,' whispered Deidara. 'Come on, in and out, in and out...'

Sasori's struggling gradually died down until he was merely glaring at his captor. Deidara offered him a weak smile.

'You gonna bite me if I let go, hm?'

Sasori gave him a bored look; such a thing would be so unhygienic. Getting the message, the blond retracted his hand.

'Right, now we're cool, hm...'

Sasori lunged for the phone, but it was wrenched from his grasp.

'No, no, no, hm! You can't have that; I'll get in trouble...'

Sasori pursed his lips. He was trapped; there were no more options. His attack had back-fired and now he was defenceless, like a snail without a shell. Oddly though, Deidara didn't strike. Instead he spoke passively, placing the phone on the kitchen counter.

'Look, I get you're freaking out and shit, but I would really appreciate a bit of help here. I helped you, right? So what I thought was you could return the favour... You see where I'm going with this, hm?'

Sasori stared at him, suspicious but somewhat calmed by his tone of voice. He didn't sound like a killer; he sounded like a normal member of the public, save for the repetition of "hm".

Deidara took a deep breath. 'I just need to hide for a bit, that's all. I'm not gonna steal anything, I'm not gonna kill you, and I'm not gonna rape you, hm.'

Although, the last part of that sentence did seem quite tempting. After all, Deidara had never met anyone this good-looking before. However, judging from the boy's jittery disposition, he knew it wasn't wise to mention this, even in a playful sense. So instead he asked; 'Do you have any beer, hm?'

Sasori blinked, shocked by the simplicity of the question. Deidara didn't wait for an answer and began trawling through the cupboards and the fridge.

'Man, you sure do like your milk, hm...'

Sasori managed to produce a single syllable.

'I...'

Deidara looked over his shoulder and grinned. 'So you do talk? Are your folks home?'

'No...'

'Cool, hm. Otherwise I'd be fucked.'

'We...we don't have alcohol...'

'Anything other than milk?'

'There's Coke in the top cupboard...'

'Sweet, hm,' said Deidara, helping himself to a can. He threw it up and caught it once, before finally opening it and leaning back against the counter. He downed the whole thing in a few gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Sasori watched from a safe distance, stunned and fascinated at the same time. Things like Coke and Fanta burnt his throat, so he wasn't entirely sure why Chiyo had purchased them in the first place.

Deidara liked it though. The blond lowered the can with a sigh of appreciation and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'So...how're you doing?' he asked.

Sasori couldn't believe what he was hearing; a criminal had infiltrated his property just to start polite conversation.

'Oh come on,' teased Deidara. 'You were talking a moment ago, hm. Are you the shy type?'

'I'm not shy, I'm...introverted.'

Deidara laughed. It was a loud, boyish laughter, and it echoed around the room. In his mouth, Sasori caught a fleeting glimpse of something shiny and metallic, with two black beads attached. It appeared to be part of his tongue. A piercing? Sasori curled his upper lip in disgust; he had nothing against self-expression but in this case it was just far too cliché.

Then Deidara said something very stupid. 'You have Facebook, hm?'

That struck a nerve.

'I'm pleased to say I do not.'

Deidara blinked. Everyone had Facebook; it was a vast web that connected the entire planet.

'Why not?'

Sasori may have been frightened but that didn't mean he'd skip the chance to lecture an idiot.

'Because it's pointless, deceptive, damaging, and completely overrun with vain women.'

Deidara sucked in his cheeks, both eyebrows raised. He hadn't been expecting such a testy response. Luckily for this kid, he liked his lovers to be stubborn and fiery.

'Then can I get your number, hm?'

Sasori slowly narrowed his eyes, glaring at him. The look was so hostile, and so bitter, and so downright cruel, that Deidara shrank back a little, his voice tremulous. 'Uh...Skype, hm?'

'Get out.'

'Kik?'

'Out, or I'll call the police.'

'Okay, okay, steady on,' mumbled Deidara, sounding a little deflated. 'I'm going, I'm going, hm...'

He wandered off down the hallway towards the front door, Sasori hot on his tail. As he passed the coat rack, he noticed the boy's blazer hanging up, the school emblem on show. He had roughly two seconds to study it before he was ushered away again.

'Hey, how about E-mail, hm? C'mon, everyone has an E-mail address-'

'Get out of my house!'

Deidara laughed uneasily and backed out into the cold night air, his hands raised in fake surrender. Thankfully the police had directed their attention further up the street.

Sasori scowled. Both of Deidara's palms had been inked. The tattoos were positively grotesque; two mouths, wide-open with their red tongues waving and their teeth poised. They'd been done exceedingly well and the detail was extraordinary; he looked like a mutant, and they grinned as his tendons flexed.

There was skidding sound by the curb and both males looked over to investigate. A shabby black car had pulled up under one of the street lamps. It was nothing too impressive, actually having a rather large dent near the door, and the tires desperately needed a wash. Light played across its bonnet in ominous ribbons.

Deidara looked at Sasori one last time and winked. 'Catch you later, hm.'

Then, just like that, he left. He hurtled down the garden path, through the driveway, and vaulted the brick wall at the bottom in an attempt to show off. He opened the front door of the vehicle, sliding himself into the passenger seat, and a slam was heard before the car pulled away, headlights beaming and engine roaring.

But Deidara kept fidgeting and looking back. He wasn't going to let this go; his heart had officially been stolen. He didn't even know the name of his Juliet, only that the redhead attended the Suna College of Art and Design. He'd never expected the boy to be so hot.

'Fuck, hm...'

'So who is it this time? A lucky girl or a lucky guy?' asked Itachi, his eyes focused on the road.

He was a tall, lean, dark-haired lad, with an extra year of knowledge and a mellow countenance. Deidara despised him.

'Piss off, Itachi. I only called you 'cause no one else was at the parlour. Anyway, why do you always think I've met someone, hm?'

'One; you have that dreamy look, two; you keep looking back at that house, and three; you have yet to call me something derogatory-'

'Bastard, hm.'

'There we go,' said Itachi, pushing down on the pedal and turning a corner. 'Now, we're going to Tesco-'

'Dude, it's nearly eleven o'clock.'

'...I want my Haribo.'

* * *

_Hopefully I've raised a few questions. XD I hope you enjoyed, and a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me so far. Love you all. :3_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

At the edge of town sat a string of shops, packed tightly together like pigeons on a power line. Most of them were simple, cheap businesses, with tacky neon signs and graffitied walls. There were several takeaway joints, a newsagent's, a florist, and a even few that had already closed down.

Wedged on the end of this line was the Akatsuki tattoo parlour; a dishevelled block with dirty bricks and a flat rooftop. Its glass front was plastered with photos and ink designs, and above it was a small apartment with a balcony.

It was outside this building that Itachi had parked the car. The Haribo trip had taken a little longer than expected, meaning he and Deidara had returned just after midnight. As a result, they had been caught by the shopkeeper's wife; Konan.

She was a sweet lady, graceful and candid, with mauve hair and lavender perfume to match. Her only fault was her level of protectiveness; she coddled everything within a five mile radius.

'What time do you call this?' she asked, her hands on her hips.

Deidara gave an exaggerated groan and scuffed the carpet with his shoes. 'I'm a nineteen-year-old man, Konan, hm!'

'You're the youngest, is what you are! God, I was worried sick! That pyromania of yours is going to get you killed one day; you breathe in enough smoke as it is!'

Deidara flushed red, hugely offended. He hated being tagged as a pyromaniac; his pieces had purpose. They weren't just the creations of a firebug; they held the same value as the Mona Lisa. He foolishly tried to fight his corner, pointing a thumb at his chest. 'I'm a sophisticated artist, hm! My work is a celebration of transience! It takes time and thought and precision and-'

'And a prison sentence if you're not careful!' interjected Konan, sharply. 'You're a tattoo designer; you work with ink, not fire!'

'But-'

'No buts! Shoo! Or do you want me to mention this to my husband?'

Reluctantly, Deidara backed down. That threat never failed to knock him from his pedestal and he had no desire to get on the wrong side of his boss. He slowly retreated to the stairs, growling and licking his bruised ego. Itachi tried to follow but was intercepted partway.

'You're not off the hook either, Itachi; you were roped in with candy. Now get back here.'

Deidara simpered quietly, covering his mouth with his palm. 'Dumbass, hm.'

Unfortunately for him, one of Konan's motherly superpowers was bionic hearing. She sent him a piercing glance from beneath her eyelashes, to which he hurriedly turned tail.

The interior above the parlour was no more spectacular than its exterior. The decor was severely dated, forever locked in the minimalist era, and the furniture needed to be replaced. The walls were whitewashed, adorned with simple pieces of abstract art, and the carpet was no longer a pristine cream colour.

All in all, it looked rather bland and tasteless.

Only two of Deidara's colleagues were present; the others had their own homes to return to.

Kisame stood in the attached kitchen, his torso above the counter and a magazine in his hands. He was a large, burly creature, more ogre than human, with blue skin from head to toe. His jaw was chiselled, his eyes were beady, and piranha-like teeth protruded from his mouth. At his feet sat a Rottweiler; a great, shabby hulk of a beast, complete with lolling tongue and slavering jowls.

On the opposite side of the room was Hidan; a rude, pious man, with greasy chrome hair and an addiction to alcohol. He lounged on the leather sofa, dressed in a hoodie, with a cluster of beer cans at his feet and a hotdog in his right hand.

His eyes, an odd shade of magneta, flicked to Deidara and a wide grin spread across his face.

'Heyo, mate.'

Deidara gave a nod of acknowledgement and flopped down next to him. 'I thought you were giving up junk food, hm.'

Hidan scratched behind his ear, quite sheepish. 'Yeah, that plan went out the window. Screw diets; I love this shit, especially with mustard...'

'Ketchup's better, hm.'

'Ugh, dude, that stuff is rank,' said Hidan, lifting a can of beer to his lips. He took a hefty swig and clicked his fingers afterwards. 'Samehada, get your ass over here, boy!'

The Rottweiler heaved its massive bulk onto its four legs and came lumbering across the carpet on springy paws, tail wagging. Hidan tossed it the remains of his hotdog, which it greedily devoured.

Kisame's voice could be heard from the kitchen, stern and quiet. 'He's not your dustbin.'

Hidan ignored him, instead turning to Deidara. 'So what bit the dust this time? Bus stop? Lamp? ...Tree?'

'Alley, hm.'

'Sweet. I need to tag along sometime; it sounds like a fucking blast, no pun intended.'

Deidara glared at him. 'You're missing the point. I don't just go around burning stuff; it has to _mean_ something, hm. It has to be artistic and-'

Hidan dismissed the words with a flick of his hand. 'Yeah, yeah, I get it; spare me the namby-pamby crap, will ya? The way I see it, shit was put on Earth to be fucked with. Plain and simple.'

'You have no understanding of talent, hm.'

'Talent, my ass. All you need is some paper and a lighter, then voila! Instant bullshit. Anyway, anything else happen or what?'

Deidara didn't respond. His thoughts had flitted to the young boy he had met a few hours ago. It was more than enough to lift his spirit. In fact, he could still see the scrappy youth in his mind's eye, a quick snapshot. He could picture the chocolatey eyes, the chubby cheeks, and even the colours in the hair, as though it were all right in front of him.

Forgetting where he was, Deidara smiled.

Naturally, Hidan spotted this and howled like a drunk hyena. He gave his friend a playful nudge. 'Haha! I know that smile; the pyro got some action! Bow-chika-wow-wow, am I right?'

Deidara was jarred from his stupor and colour rushed to his cheeks. 'It's not like that, hm! Nothing happened!'

'Man, that is such a fucking lie; look at your face!'

'Shut up, hm!'

'...Did you have to pay for it?'

'I said, shut up, hm!' hissed Deidara, kicking the coffee table in frustration.

Samehada whimpered and slunk away from the conflict, his tail between his legs. He sat near Kisame, who daintily turned a page in his magazine.

'I hope you used protection,' he said, seemingly indifferent to the situation. 'You can catch some nasty stuff these days...'

'I didn't have sex, hm!'

'For once, I believe he's telling the truth,' said Itachi. He stood in doorway, Haribo in hand, the plastic crumpling as his nails dug into it. Judging by his gaunt, doleful expression, he too had received a lengthy rebuke from Konan.

Hidan's grin faltered under his gaze. 'Whaddaya mean?'

'He didn't have intercourse,' said Itachi, simply, drifting into the kitchen to look for a pair of scissors. A rustling was heard as he opened his Haribo, followed by fervent chewing.

Hidan let out an insane cackle. 'Are you kidding me? This guy can't go five minutes without getting laid! He even had a fling with-'

Deidara elbowed him in the rib cage with unprecedented force. 'Shut it, hm! That was ages ago and I don't even like her.'

Hidan rubbed his injured side and scowled. 'So nothing went down? Seriously?'

'Well, I wouldn't say nothing,' mused Itachi. He had perched on a kitchen stool, busying himself by sliding Haribo rings on his fingers. Samehada whined and pawed at his shin, begging for food.

'Wait, so something _did_ happen? Itachi, man, you're messing with my mind here!'

Itachi sighed. 'Look, he met someone when he broke into their house and-'

'Hello! I'm still sitting here!' hissed Deidara, fists clenched. His cheeks were now glowing like two freshly-picked apples.

Hidan poked him in the shoulder. 'Why don't you tell us then, Mr. Lovestruck?'

Deidara angrily swatted him away. 'Don't call me that, hm. Anyway, I don't even know his name...'

Hidan raised his hands to the heavens in gratitude. 'Hallelujah! It's a boy!'

'Oh for fuck's sake, hm.'

'How can you not know his name?' asked Kisame. 'That's the first thing I'd ask for...'

Deidara shot him a look of disbelief. 'I practically stormed his house, you twat, hm! I'm not gonna just ask his name! Besides, the poor kid was scared to death...'

Hidan slowly turned to face him, eyebrows raised in astonishment. '...Kid?'

Realising that what he'd said could be misinterpreted, Deidara panicked. He waved his hands, flustered. 'Woah, shit, I didn't mean it like that, hm! I'm pretty sure he was, y'know, legal...'

Hidan gnawed on the rim of his beer can. 'Bro, you're playing with fire, and in a different way than you normally do-'

'I'm sure he's sixteen, hm! He goes to secondary school!'

'Which one?' asked Itachi.

Deidara ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. He squinted as he tried to remember the emblem he'd seen on the boy's blazer; it somewhat resembled an hourglass. 'I think...Suna college, hm. Art and Design.'

'Ah, interesting. Sasuke attends that place...'

Deidara launched into meerkat mode, sitting bolt upright. 'What?'

'My brother attends,' repeated Itachi, popping a gummy bear into his mouth. 'They're probably in the same year. Funny world, isn't it?'

Deidara was at his side in mere seconds. 'You gotta get him to deliver a message for me, hm! Tomorrow! Please!'

Itachi raised an eyebrow. 'I already took the fall for you once. Besides, you don't know his name _or_ his class. You don't even know if he's gay-'

'Do it and another pack of Haribo is coming your way, hm.'

At this, Itachi seemed to withdraw into himself. He stared at the kitchen counter and bit the inside of his cheek, his brow furrowed in extreme concentration.

Sensing only a tiny push was needed, Deidara lowered his voice to a cheeky whisper. 'And not just any pack; a multipack-'

'Deal,' said Itachi, almost instantly.

'Good, hm. Now, he's kinda short, brown eyes, skin like snow-'

'Skin like snow?' scoffed Hidan. 'What are you? A Disney Prince?'

Deidara flipped him the bird. 'The point is; he's fucking adorable and his hair is like fire.'

Hidan groaned in despair. 'Ginger too? Mate, your standards have slipped. What happened to all the tanned, platinum-blonde bitches?'

'They're ten a penny, hm. The guy I'm talking about; that's the guy I'm gonna marry.'

All three of the other males burst into merry laughter and Samehada barked a few times. Even Itachi failed to conceal his amusement. 'You say that about _everyone_ you date. Face it; you get bored too easily. You go through partners like I do sweets, and that's saying something...'

'Oh piss off,' muttered Deidara, grabbing a post-it note from the fridge and a pen from the coffee table. He hunched himself over, hurriedly scribbling away like an eager child, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. When finished, he promptly stuck the note to Itachi's forehead.

'Give that to Sasuke, hm.'

Itachi sighed quietly and grasped it between his thumb and forefinger. He plucked it from his face in a bored manner and gave it the once over.

'...Fine. I'll give it to him in the morning.'

'Thanks, hm. This doesn't change anything though; I still hate you.'

'Of course.'

* * *

_Heyo! I hope you enjoyed; the next one shall be a lot more interesting, I promise. XD_

_A huge thank you to Ninjarism3, Ships, and the Mello, and to everyone who is reading! Your support makes me so happy! *Hugs* X3_

_Hopefully I can start getting more updates out soon; I will also try to do something for Crimble this year. Love you all! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

This was not how Sasori wanted to spend his lunch break.

Eating wasn't something he did often, so he normally spent most of his time camping in the library with a good book. No one bothered him and the minutes rolled by one after another; it was the perfect little setup.

Today, however, he was stuck on a bench playing detective.

He glared at the post-it note in his hands, before turning the thing over and inspecting it thoroughly. He didn't have anyone to help him solve this mystery either; Sai was absent and Sasuke, the person who had delivered it to him, wasn't exactly approachable.

Sasori shared no social link with him; the boy had sealed himself away in a bubble of angst.

Therefore, only two things could be deduced; the handwriting was unfamiliar and the words had been scrawled in a rush. It read;

_Meet me at the school gates at 12:00. I need to thank you._

Simple, yet effective. The time coincided with lunch break and the gates were located at the far side of the playground, hidden behind the school building. They were also barred, allowing for easy communication.

Whoever the writer was, they had planned things surprisingly well. They had also placed a generous number of kisses at the bottom of the paper.

Sasori couldn't stop looking at the neat line of Xs; they made him feel strange and, to be quite honest, frightened. A secret admirer was out of the question; nobody in their right mind would find him desirable, but then who else could be responsible? Or was this a trick? It was awfully suspicious.

Without thinking, he reached up to touch his hood, as if reassuring himself of its existence. Was this an elaborate scheme to somehow take the piss?

Sighing, he leaned back and surveyed his surroundings. The weather was overcast, dull and cold, and the grey sky mirrored the floor of the playground. There were a few clusters of students, all of them huddled together like penguins, but nothing more.

The world had been drained of colour, robbed of joy and vitality.

In Sasori's opinion, it suited reality quite well. After all, life was really nothing more than this; a vast stretch of boring concrete, consisting of work, sorrow, and judgemental pricks. The one thing that made it interesting was human creativity, not that he had that anymore.

Slowly, his eyes drifted downwards, settling on the post-it note once more. The tiny square flapped about in the wind, as though it were trying to run away from his fingertips.

He stared at it.

Perhaps he could go through with this request, purely to satisfy his curiosity and kill some time.

If the sender was sincere and they did wish to thank him for something, then it would only be polite to show up. On the other hand, if it turned out to be a prank, no damage could be dealt that hadn't already been done.

It could be said that by now he had gone past the point of caring; in a sick, warped way, he indulged in his self-pity. It made him feel clever, as though he had seen the world for what it truly was, and it gave him the right to sneer at all the happy people. It was a macabre pleasure, but one that had revived him time after time.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was around five minutes until twelve o'clock; he could still make it if he tried.

Grunting, he heaved himself onto his feet, using one hand to keep his hood in place. He then set off in the direction of the meeting point, his bag bumping against his thigh. Hopefully no one else would be there; it was a discreet area, so people generally used it as a place to smoke.

'Such a vile habit,' he whispered to himself. 'Smoking helps no one but the seller.'

Meanwhile Deidara stood on the other side of the gate, obsessively preening himself like a peacock. He hurriedly ran a comb through his hair, wincing whenever the teeth hit a knot. Even as an adult, he found it difficult to remove the unsightly tangles; it was just too painful and too time-consuming, and the problem persisted regardless of what shampoo he used.

A second man stood next to him, watching the struggle. He was an odd character, young in spirit, and he twiddled his thumbs in childlike nervousness. His head was covered with a brown paper bag, upon which he had drawn a crude, swirly pattern in orange crayon. A single hole had been cut in the right side, in order for him to see, and he jumped when Deidara snapped at him.

'Damn it, Tobi! Give me the time already, hm!'

'Calm down, senpai! You still have a few minutes-'

'A few minutes isn't long enough, dipshit! Now pass me the mirror, hm!'

Tobi fumbled with the pocket of his jeans, removing the object and holding it at a distance. His arm quivered as though he were feeding a lion through a cage. Deidara snatched it with a snarl. He flipped it open and began scanning every angle of his face, tilting his head and running a hand along the smooth skin of his jawline. Everything had to be perfect, right down to the flick of his eyeliner.

He wanted this boy to think of him as attractive.

'Tobi, do you think I need more foundation?' he asked, quietly, pulling at the skin of his cheek with his index finger.

Tobi tapped his fingers together in nervousness. 'Um, senpai?'

'Yeah?'

'Do you have to wear makeup all the time? Isn't it dishonest?'

Deidara snorted rudely and snapped the mirror shut. He slid it into his back pocket with ease. 'Idiot. You're so clueless. There's no way he'll go for me without this stuff; I look like shit, hm...'

'But maybe he doesn't like girly men; maybe he likes the natural look...'

'...Did you just call me a girl?'

Tobi fell silent, his mistake sinking in. Then he gulped and retreated a few steps. 'Well-'

Deidara grabbed him by his shirt and roughly yanked him back. His eyes blazed. 'Do I look like I have tits?' he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Tobi hurriedly shook his head. 'No-'

'Then don't call me a fucking girl, hm!'

'Senpai?'

'I'm a man! I'm a manly man and I can kick your arse any day of the week, hm!'

'Senpai?'

Deidara took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. He clenched his teeth and growled. 'What is it?'

Tobi pointed a trembling finger towards the gate. Deidara's eyes followed the indication and he froze completely.

There, in the shadow of the school building, stood the boy that he coveted so very much, all bundled up in a jacket.

Deidara rushed to grip the metal bars, pushing Tobi away in the process. His heart danced in the theatre of his ribcage and his expression was like that of an amazed child at the zoo. Then he remembered what was at stake and straightened himself up. He wanted to make a good impression; all he needed to do was act confident, be cool, and not mention any social networking sites.

He smirked and made a kissing sound with his lips.

'That's it; c'mere, hm.'

Sasori sent him a frosty glance. He hadn't expected this buffoon to make a second appearance but, now that he thought about it, it was quite obvious. He couldn't help but turn his nose up; the man looked like a vain, obnoxious asshole, with a face smothered in makeup and a toxic, smokey odour. Not only that, but his partner looked obscenely shady; no one walked around with a bag over their head unless they were a convicted murderer.

Sasori had seen enough. Without batting an eyelid, he turned to leave.

Deidara began to panic. Obviously a flirty attitude wasn't going to get him anywhere. It was weird; more often than not, that behaviour would earn him a prize of some kind. This time he needed to try a different approach.

But unfortunately, he didn't know any other way.

So instead he resorted to something very primitive; he called out and rattled the bars, hoping to garner some attention.

'No! Wait! Come back, hm!'

Sasori halted for a moment, hooked only by the desperate tone. He stared at the floor of the playground, weighing his options. He could hear Deidara's voice behind him, whiny and pathetic.

'Baby, please! Don't go, hm!'

Sasori grimaced. This level of neediness was enough to make him uncomfortable, and where did the nickname come from? It was positively repulsive. A baby was a young human, a helpless, drooling infant. In what way did that serve as a compliment? Modern culture made no sense.

Then he heard a second voice, this one being more polite and reasonable.

'Please, come back; senpai wants to see you. He's been talking about you all morning and he made Tobi drive him all the way here...'

Sasori looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. Now that was intriguing.

Deidara had flushed a very unattractive ruby colour, his bottom lip twitching uncontrollably. He huffed and crossed his arms. 'It's not that I can't drive; I can, hm! I'm just...lazy...'

He screwed his eyes shut. Shit, this was falling apart; he was giving out so many bad signals.

He felt something nudge his shoulder.

'Wake up, senpai! He's coming over! See? Honesty is the best policy! Tobi is a good boy!'

Deidara creaked open an eye to see his crush standing in front of him.

The youth seemed shorter than he had at their previous meeting, but this only added to his doll-like charm; he looked more ornamental than human. Two large, glossy eyes peered out from beneath his hood, evenly spaced with the lashes fanned and the pupils dilated. Light played across their surface, highlighting a potent mixture of inner emotions; fear, curiosity, mistrust, and many others. He reminded Deidara of an owlet or a bushbaby, or some other cute, nocturnal animal.

A few wisps of vivid red could be seen about his pale face, the rest concealed in shadow. It was a huge disappointment; he was hiding his most beautiful feature. Sunlight would make his hair shine like the fires of Olympus.

Deidara's eyes travelled downwards towards the lips, which were pink, pert, and sparrow-like, as if they had been painted on. He was so caught up in his admiration that, for a moment, he failed register their movements.

'Don't call me that. I'm not your "baby".'

Hearing this, he shook his head and grinned. 'Well tell me your name then,' he said. 'I'm not psychic and I'd sure like to know, hm.'

Sasori eyed him skeptically. Giving out personal information wasn't a wise move, but what could a single name do? He had feeling the blond would pester him for it anyway, or give him another pet title.

After a lengthy pause, he complied.

'...Sasori.'

Deidara tapped his lips thoughtfully. He relayed the word several times, rolling the syllables on his tongue and relishing them as though they were squares of milk chocolate.

'Sasori... Sa-so-ri... Sasori, Sasori, Sasori, hm...'

Then he peered down at the boy and smiled kindly.

'It's perfect. Just like you, hm.'

Sasori very nearly bared his teeth. Fake comments like that shot straight through to his stomach; they made him feel sick and insulted. With some difficulty, he managed to retain a stiff upper lip.

'Just tell me what you want.'

Deidara chuckled. 'You got the message; I just wanna say thanks, hm. For yesterday. Staying at your place was a huge help and-'

'You barged in,' interjected Sasori, testily. 'I didn't have a choice and you shouldn't be in trouble with the police anyway, you simpleton.'

Deidara ceased speaking immediately, his mouth clamping shut in a fish-like manner. Just like the night before; this one definitely had a sharp tongue. Each word stung like a lash from a steel whip, but no matter. He'd gladly be a masochist for this gorgeous creature.

He winked. 'Yeah, well, I really appreciate it; I owe you one, hm.'

Sasori grunted and turned his head away. 'Well you've given your thanks; you can leave now.'

'Just one more thing, I swear.'

'Ugh. What?'

Deidara scratched the back of his neck and took a deep breath. He had to give this a shot; if you didn't ask, you didn't receive.

'You, uh, wanna catch a movie sometime, hm? Y'know, like a date?'

Sasori stood perfectly still, processing the request. No one had ever asked him out before, for obvious reasons. He didn't look like a dreamboat nor did he act like one; if anything, he was the polar opposite of romantic. When people thought of partners, they didn't think of chalky skin and cherry hair. They thought of tans, tits, and tummy tucks. They thought of plump lips, toned chests, and full bank accounts.

Oh for crying out loud; they thought of people like Brad Pitt, Angelia Jolie, and Kim Kardashian, whoever she was. Moreover, did Deidara simply _assume_ that he was a single homosexual? Was that the kind of message he gave out? It threw his psyche completely off balance. He looked thoroughly shocked and, when he finally did come to his senses, his scowled.

'You're mocking me, aren't you?'

Deidara cocked an eyebrow, confused. That hadn't been his intention at all.

'Say wha?'

Sasori turned on him. He hissed, distraught and bitter. 'No one would ever ask me on date! You're only doing so in the hope that I will agree; then you'll laugh at me and tease me for thinking it was possible!'

'...Huh?'

That did it.

Sasori let out an frustrated groan and gave the blond the cold shoulder. He stalked off, his lips pursed and his face red from humiliation. He despised people like that. All they ever did was look for a chance to scar others, to ruin someone else's day and to dash someone else's hopes. They were nothing more than leeches that festered on the underbelly of society.

Said leech was currently waving a hand through the bars of the gate, crying out and making clumsy grabs. His palm tattoo crumpled in anguish.

'Hey, wait! Come back, hm! I wasn't gonna do any of that shit! Hey!'

But Sasori was already gone; he had disappeared behind the corner of the school building, leaving absolutely nothing to mark his presence.

A series of loud, metallic clangs were heard as Deidara headbutted the gate. He swore repeatedly.

'Fuck, hm! Fuck, fuck, fuck!'

'I don't think he likes you, senpai...'

Deidara glared straight ahead. He drawled sarcastically, 'You don't say, hm?'

Tobi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'Ah well. You tried and that's what counts-'

Deidara shrugged him off. 'Oh no,' he whispered, licking his lips. He shook his head and gave a breathless laugh. 'Oh no, no, no, Tobi. This ain't over.'

'Senpai?'

'You really don't know anything, do you? He's just playing hard to get, hm.'

* * *

_Deidara will have to try harder than that if he wants to worm his way into Sasori's heart. Our little redhead doesn't form bonds easily. X3 Perhaps he'll get a second chance at it... :3_

_A big thank you to all my readers! __I hope you enjoyed and I love you very much! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

It was seven o'clock on a Friday evening, a time when many people would be relaxing at home, indulging in a combination of McDonalds and Netflix, or getting ready for the weekend.

Unfortunately, the workers of the Akatsuki tattoo parlour weren't part of this clique. They filled the small apartment above the shop; with dinnertime fast approaching, they needed to reach a consensus on what exactly it was they'd be eating. It had become somewhat of a tradition for them to order takeaway together, at least four times a week, mainly because Konan viewed it as a "bonding activity" and a "chance to socialise".

She sat on one of the stools in the adjoining kitchen, her legs crossed and a smile on her face. Next to her sat her husband, Pein, the owner of the entire business. He didn't look like an entrepreneur; he looked like a drug dealer or an escaped convict, the kind of person you'd expect to be warned about in the local paper. His face was dotted with piercings, like spots on a Dalmatian, and his hair was a carroty ginger, his eyes stern and grey.

He seldom talked; in a way, his wife acted as his spokesperson.

She continued to cling to his arm, her enthusiasm boundless and her honey-coloured eyes gleaming. 'So,' she said. 'Do any of you have any suggestions for tonight? Pein and I vote for Chinese!'

A mumble passed through the crowd of young men that surrounded her; several of them spilled over into the living room, Zetsu taking up the full length of the sofa.

He was a tall, shrewd individual, with a turbulent disposition. He wore a dark biker's uniform, his skin whiter than whey, and his helmet sat on the coffee table, the visor pulled downwards. It was green and abstract, filled with stylised leaves and flytrap heads, and it had a polished sheen to it. His voice was a roller-coaster of pitches. 'Yeah, I could go for some crispy duck…or Thai…or Indian… Damn my indecisiveness.'

'I vote for fish an' chips,' interjected a gruff voice. 'Much cheaper.'

The speaker was Kakuzu. He was a miserly, bronzed gentleman, and his trench coat crinkled as he leaned across the kitchen counter. A thick scarf stretched across the bridge of his nose, his mouth hidden beneath the wool, and scars could be seen across the rest of his face. In his hands he held a wad of pound notes and he flicked through them with all the dexterity of a temple dancer.

Zetsu squinted at him. 'Well what qualifies as expensive?'

'Everything you just said. We're not exactly rolling in it, y'know.'

'Oh who the fuck cares how much it costs?' asked Hidan. He was slumped against the wall across the room, beer in hand. 'I'm fucking starving and I want my fucking food! I say we get hot dogs.'

Itachi shot him a sharp, sidelong glance from the doorway. 'Oh joy. You know those things are filled with crap, don't you?'

'Yeah, and? Carpe diem, bitch.'

'That's basically a fancy way of saying yolo. Your diet is bad and you should feel bad.'

'Says the Haribo addict; put a sock in it, dickweed.'

Konan sighed. This happened often and it was to be expected. Her co-workers weren't exactly the most cooperative and the chances of them having a quiet evening together were a million to one; they were simply too different, like a mishmash of zoo animals. Ironically, Samehada was the only one with any manners at all, and he was currently grooming himself with his tongue.

Konan craned her neck, searching the room and frowning. 'Where's Deidara? Everyone's entitled to their own vote...'

Tobi looked up from his position on the carpet; he'd built a large nest of of plastic dinosaurs and he still wore his beloved paper bag. 'Senpai's still on the balcony,' he chirped. 'He got turned down and now he needs a few smokes…'

Hidan laughed loudly and set down his beer, dragging himself to his feet and wiping his hands on his hoodie. His mouth contorted in a grotesque yawn. 'I'll get him. Bro needs a pep talk-'

'No, _I'll _get him,' corrected Itachi, firmly, his strict tone putting an end to any further debate. He emerged from the shadows of the doorway like a spectre, his posture straightening. 'You'll only make things worse.'

He drifted across the room towards the entrance of the balcony. Despite knowing Deidara despised him, he still felt a certain level of responsibility towards the blond. It wasn't brotherly; it was piteous, driven by the fear of what would happen if the artist became upset. Fires would start springing up across the neighbourhood like daises and it would probably end with an arson charge, a manslaughter charge, or both.

It could be said that Itachi saw himself as a bit of a counsellor, one paid in Haribo.

He stepped out onto the balcony, a warm breeze hitting him. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, the contours of the clouds becoming pink, and flashes of amber could be seen over the houses, highlighting the shingled roofs. This charming symphony of light was soon interrupted by a puff of smoke, the noxious fumes drifting out across the empty road.

Itachi turned his head to the source.

Deidara leaned on the railings of the balcony, his legs casually crossed and his hair tied back in a messy bun, the loose strands undulating. His face had been daubed with another layer of makeup, so much so that he looked plastic; his peachy skin held no gradient whatsoever. It was clearly his own silly attempt at regaining his pride; his arms dangled over the iron barrier as though he were a sulking child, his nails painted black, and in his hand he held a cigarette, the end smouldering. He lifted it to his lips, the end crumbling as he inhaled.

He breathed his smoke over the sunset, as if scorning it.

'What the hell do you want, hm?' he grumbled, moodily, his eyes fixed in a straight stare.

Itachi moved to stand next to him, smiling. 'I take it you're not used to being rejected?' he asked.

'Tch, you sound just like Tobi. It wasn't a rejection; he's just playing hard to get, that's all.'

'Right, and I suppose that's why you're out here ploughing your way through death sticks? It won't do you any good to breath in so much smoke...'

Deidara groaned and dropped his cigarette, covering it with the heel of his shoe and snuffing it out. 'Don't nag me, hm. I get enough of that from Konan.'

Itachi chuckled. Typical teenage lad. 'I'm not nagging you. I came here to bring you back inside; we need to hear your vote, otherwise we can't eat-'

'My vote is I don't give a shit. Now piss off.'

'Well that attitude won't get you anywhere. No wonder this boy looked the other way.'

Deidara heaved a sigh and hung his head. Like many his age, he loathed being reminded of his failures. He couldn't understand why he'd been refused, or why Sasori had bombarded him with accusations. Jeering at someone so sexy? That would be as smart as sticking his hand in a woodchipper. Nothing made any sense; hooking up was supposed to be as easy as pie. It fact it had been, up until six hours ago.

He was naturally boisterous and flirtatious, and those traits usually won universal appeal. Normal people would've been all over him but, then again, Sasori wasn't a normal person. The boy was nothing less than an angel.

A stubborn, frosty little angel, with a short temper and hair like a bonfire. How would it feel to hold him? Would it be like cuddling a candle or hugging a glacier? If personality had anything to do with it, it would probably be the latter.

Deidara absentmindedly reached into his pocket for another cigarette, only to find Itachi's hand at his wrist, stopping him. He sent the man a warning look. 'Paws off, hm.'

Itachi gave him an irritatingly benign smile. 'You don't need another one,' he said. 'I'm going to give you some advice.'

'I don't need your advice; Sasori is as good as mine, hm.'

'Ah, so that's his name. He sounds nice…'

'Nice doesn't cut it,' muttered Deidara. He looked out at the sunset, shielding his eyes to escape the glare. 'He's hot… Like one of those models you see on TV, hm…'

Itachi moved backwards, resting his elbows on the railings. His smile had been replaced by a prudent frown. Whenever Deidara became smitten with someone, it was solely based on that person's appearance. He wasn't the type to look any deeper; his attention span was too short and his faithfulness needed a lot of work. He couldn't recognise true worth and his longest relationship had been a couple of weeks, if that.

At times like this, Itachi felt as though he were lecturing his own uncouth son. He gave a curt hum. 'Perhaps you should be a gentleman next time,' he suggested. 'He'll appreciate it a bit more.'

Deidara screwed his nose up. When he thought of gentlemen, he thought of tuxedos and posh accents and priggish killjoys. The idea was foreign and distasteful, and it didn't suit his style at all. 'Gentleman?' he asked, incredulously.

'Yes, Deidara, a gentleman. Someone kind and courteous, someone who doesn't run around with his chest on show...'

Deidara bridled, offended. 'Hey, this is my signature outfit!' He took hold of his fishnet shirt, pulling it to emphasise its existence and allowing it to ping back against his chest. 'I gotta give the li'l strawberry something to look at! He _will _eventually succumb to this buffet of love, hm!'

Itachi rolled his eyes, his lips curving into an amused simper. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere; it was impossible for a leopard to change its spots. He lifted himself back onto his feet and made his way to the door of the balcony once more, looking over his shoulder. 'Whatever you say, stud. Now, can we please go back inside? The others are getting hungry…'

Deidara turned away from him in a huff. 'I told you; I don't care.'

'How about this; we both vote for pizza and you can pick it up yourself. That way, you can walk past this Sasori's house like the stalker you are.'

'Deal, hm. …Wait, what did you call me?'

* * *

_I did have a different chapter written out for this but then I realised things would be moving too fast. I also wanted to focus on Hidan and Itachi a bit more as they're very important, and I'm trying foreshadowing, bros. :D _

_ I'm sorry this was so short but I still have the original chapter, which will be much longer and up soon. X3 Dei will have the perfect opportunity to be a gentleman. :3_

_I hope you enjoyed this; I love you all supremely muchly! _


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

It was about eight o'clock on a Friday night, a time when many teenagers would be out partying with friends, laughing and rejoicing, and experimenting with vice.

Unfortunately, Sasori was not a member of this pleasure-seeking coterie. He sat alone on the damp curb outside his house, with only the moon, a post-box, and a flickering streetlight for company. His jacket had been tightly wrapped around his shoulders, most of it bunched against his chest, and his hood covered his hair as it always did. He'd curled into himself to escape the falling temperature, his face illuminated by the screen of his iPod, and the light made his skin glow like polished nacre. His cheeks were stained with tears.

He refused to go back inside; he hated the atmosphere and everything that came with it. Unlike his peers, he cared about his homework and he cared about his grades, a bit too much in fact. His art lay on his desk, pathetic and half-done, with the onion to the side. He couldn't look at it anymore. There were so many faults; the composition of the page was clumsy and the shading was subpar, as was the information. His work was an extension of himself; he was nothing without it.

Chiyo and Ebizō had also fallen into yet another argument about something trivial. He didn't know what exactly, only that it destroyed his concentration and left him without dinner. In fact, if he strained his ears, he could still hear their muffled squawking from inside the building.

He slowly lifted his head and stared across the road. Several puddles had settled on the tarmac, reflecting the starless sky like a collection of flat, misshapen mirrors. He wanted to run to them, to sprint down the street and never return, but he knew he couldn't; he was anchored by the very things that tormented him.

He had a new problem to add to the list as well, a new dilemma for his mind to struggle with; his sexuality.

He'd never cared about his orientation before; it was pretty pointless considering how ugly he was. That, and the entire population was rotten. Both men and women were cheaters and liars; he'd seen so many scenarios on television, so many tragic newspaper stories, and so many broken-hearted fools. The evidence was overwhelming; deception and glut were encrypted to human DNA. People only cared about three things; money, looks, and sex. Neither gender was an exception to that rule and both invested too much time in a fairytale ending.

Now though, Deidara's visit had thrown everything out of whack.

For the first time in years, the subject had been brought to Sasori's attention. He'd spent the rest of the school day questioning himself, pondering his likes and dislikes. His classwork had suffered immensely; he'd been too busy staring out of the window, trying to figure out what exactly it was that he considered attractive.

And now, seven or so hours later, he was still no closer to reaching his goal. Was he straight or gay? Bisexual or pansexual? Perhaps even asexual or aromantic, or a mixture of the two? The last option seemed very promising; he liked the idea of being immune to love. It would never come his way and, if it did, it would likely be nothing but hassle. Then again, he couldn't just pick his sexuality; it was already in-built into his system. His job was to track it down and find it; it was a journey of self-discovery. It took time and, much to his chagrin,_ experience._

'I hate waiting,' he grumbled, flicking through his music playlist with his thumb. 'Why does life have to take so long?'

On impulse, he tapped one of his favourite songs; _May I _by Trading Yesterday. It was gentler and more optimistic than his usual choices, with a bit of a cliché undertone, but he couldn't quite bring himself to delete it. It was a guilty pleasure, a memento of wishful thinking, and he reserved it only for when he felt sorry for himself. It was cathartic and comforting, and it did a good job of drowning out his carers' arguing.

The tune began to play and he plugged in his headphones, his head bowed and his eyes focusing on the trickle of water in the gutter. At times like this he felt like a character from a movie, one with a tragic past and an outrageous power-up.

So caught up was he in his lamentation that he failed to notice an oncoming problem. On this night, for whatever reason, fate had decided to throw him a bone.

Deidara was strolling down from the other end of the road; every now and then he passed beneath a streetlight, the beams bathing his face in a yellowish glow. He'd pencilled his eyebrows and doubled the thickness of the kohl around his eyes, transforming himself into a raccoon. In his hands he held a takeaway pizza, the food warming his palms through the cardboard box, and balanced on top of this was a bag of Haribo.

Of course, Itachi wasn't going to hand over his vote without sufficient payment, not that Deidara cared. It was a small sacrifice to make and the reward was far sweeter than any type of candy; all he could think about was walking past his future husband's house. The original plan had been to loiter outside or to peek through one of the upstairs windows and catch the boy's attention; then they'd reenact the balcony scene from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet, _and he'd dash away into the night before the parents caught him.

The idea was enough to bring a smile to Deidara's face. He wasn't a stalker and, even if he was, he'd already committed several crimes because that was how the law viewed his artwork. What he was doing now was innocent; he was simply trying to continue his winning streak in the game of love.

At this point he noticed a crouched figure up ahead, no more than a few houses away, and he craned his neck to get a better view. The person sat by the curb like a homeless beggar, an electronic device in hand, and they were fairly small in stature. They were also bundled up in a jacket, hunched over and shivering, and the dwelling behind them gave away their identity. It was Sasori; it had to be. No one else had such a fragile build and the clothing was far too familiar to dismiss.

Taking this as a stroke of luck, Deidara immediately picked up his pace and entered a brisk trot. With each step, his grin broadened and his heartbeat quickened, excited and jittery. This was the perfect setup, a scenario torn straight from a romantic film. So many things needed to be answered; why had Sasori freaked out during their last meeting? Maybe he was recovering from a tough breakup? Had he changed his mind? The boy was an enigma; all Deidara had to do was decode him and warm him up a bit.

However as he grew nearer and nearer, he felt his elation waver. He began to slow down, until he stood no more than a few metres from his crush. Something wasn't entirely right. It was odd for someone so young to be sitting alone outside, especially at such an ungodly hour. Sasori didn't move a muscle either. He didn't flee, nor did he attack; he remained huddled up in the same spot. There was something about the way he held himself, about the way he sat; he was clearly very upset over something, so much so that he didn't have the will to react to the blond's presence.

Deidara found it disconcerting; he'd only ever seen one side of the boy, the quick-tempered, mulish side. He faltered and took a couple of tentative steps forward, unsure of how to react. He dipped his head to catch a glimpse of the youth's face and his heart reeled in his chest.

Sasori looked positively haggard; his eyes were dull and dead, and his cheeks were pastier than usual. Silent tears hung on his eyelashes like silver baubles and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. It was almost as if he'd given up; his stubbornness had been sucked out of him, leaving nothing but a wilted flower. He purposely made no effort to interact.

This extinguished Deidara's zeal; he stood awkwardly to the side and fiddled with his fringe, which had been heavily doused in product. Of course, he wanted to fix the situation but there was no telling what response he'd get, if any at all. He'd already been rebuffed twice and he wasn't keen on failing a third time; all he could do was freeze in the middle of the pavement and search his mind for something to say.

He wasn't used to consoling people; he surrounded himself with jovial extroverts and if one of his friends did get upset - Hidan for example - he'd tell them to get a grip. He couldn't do that here; he'd ruin his chances and he'd be answered with a slap across the face.

After about a minute, he crept forward and sat down next to his crush, the pizza and Haribo in his lap. He played with his tongue piercing, eventually piecing together a question.

'Why so blue, babycakes, hm?'

Sasori grunted and looked away, pausing his music with a flick of his index finger. He'd been secretly hoping for the blond to ignore him; he wasn't in the mood for flirting and the smell of smoke was overpowering. He had three options; go back inside and descend into madness, stay outside and risk being kidnapped, or run a mile to Sai's house and be told to "have more faith". None were very promising.

'I told you not to call me that,' he said, bluntly, hoping to balk the man's advances.

Deidara remained undeterred. He scooted closer. 'That's why I added the "cakes" part, hm.'

'…Go away.'

'Nope; I ain't leaving you like this.'

'I'm fine.'

'You're sitting on the curb at eight o'clock; that don't look fine to me...'

Sasori angrily fisted the material of his jacket. Oh joy; he loathed people like this. They were insufferable; they had an answer for everything and they lingered like mosquitos. He turned to glare at the blond, his voice emerging as a hiss.

'I said I'm fine!'

He'd meant for it to be threatening but instead it came out as forced and pathetic, and a lot more emotional than he would've liked.

Deidara didn't appear to be at all bothered by it. His expression softened and he tilted his head, taking in every detail and every pore.

Sasori's features were fixed in a sullen, tight-lipped lour, his eyes brimming with liquid and his red tresses tucked away beneath his hood. Yet, for all the harshness of his countenance, he couldn't hide how delicate he was. Somewhere, amidst the spite and the irritation, was something far more brittle; he tried his best to hide it, to bury it under a thick layer of abhorrence, but his efforts were in vain. Frailty shone through his face like a beacon, betraying his act of toughness.

Deidara could see straight through the facade; it was almost as if he'd been especially trained to read the boy.

'You're not fine though, are you?' he whispered, already knowing the answer.

His words seemed to hang in the air and for a moment the entire street was plunged into silence. All that could be heard was the far-off rustling of a fox or some other urban pest. Sasori faltered, unable to think of a retort. Actually he felt rather ashamed at being so easy to read; obviously the cracks in his mask were bigger than he'd first thought. Not only that but he'd carelessly allowed his face to be seen; he probably looked awful, worse than usual, with red eyes and a runny nose and waxy skin...

Oh dear God.

He abruptly bent his knees against his chest, using them to conceal himself. He prayed to be left alone; he could already hear the blond's impending taunts and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle them. He couldn't handle _anything_ anymore. Life was difficult and futile; he'd end up stuck in a one-bedroom flat by the end of it, broken, bitter, and unemployed. He didn't know why he waited for such a miserable destiny.

After all, there was always _one_ way out, a path taken by only the saddest of people. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought of joining them. In fact, the only things stopping him were frivolous; food, sunsets, clean bed sheets and pyjamas, the feeling of rain on his cheeks, hope…

Deidara stared at him, surprised by the sudden retreat. He had no clue what was going on but he knew it had to be something serious. There were plenty of melodramatic attention-seekers but this didn't fit the bill. This was quiet and modest; this was real.

He shifted a little closer and tried to peer into the boy's cocoon. 'Hey… You wanna talk about it, hm?' he asked.

Sasori growled. He'd received that question so many times before. People thought of him as weak and they asked because they felt it was their duty to ask, not because they cared.

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure you're sure, hm?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure you're sure you're-'

'Just shut up.'

Deidara's lips curved into a grin. There was fighting spirit he'd come to admire; it felt good to be on the receiving end, even if he didn't yet have the right to invade the boy's privacy.

He directed his gaze downwards to the pizza; the food within was still hot and fresh, and the delicious aroma wafted upwards. He knew it was reserved for his co-workers; there would be an uproar if he returned empty-handed. Still, rules were made to be broken and Sasori's needs were far greater than theirs. Besides, he'd been told to act chivalrous and gentlemanly; he'd already been given permission and, if no one liked that, he could blame Itachi.

He gave Sasori a gentle nudge with his elbow. 'You eaten yet, hm?'

Sasori lifted his head and composed himself. He took a shaky breath and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 'No.'

'I have pizza, hm. You like that?'

Sasori turned to the blond with a mopey expression.

The man was smiling kindly, with not a hint of mirth in his eyes. He'd applied a severe surplus of makeup; his face seemed more tanned than his neck and his eyebrows were a little too defined.

Sasori turned his attention to the pizza box. It did smell very good, and he was hungry, but he didn't like junk food. Takeaway dishes were messy and loaded with preservatives, additives, and saturated fat; they were heart attacks in meal form. That, and Deidara's palm tattoos weren't exactly trustworthy. They were more like graffiti tags, the kind of things a serial killer would leave behind at each crime scene. Sasori knew better than to simply accept something from a stranger; it had probably been tampered with, laced with poison or seasoned with drugs.

He didn't have any hand sanitiser with him either.

He eyed the offering suspiciously. 'You've done something to it, haven't you?'

Deidara laughed. 'I literally just bought it, hm. Watch.'

He pushed aside the bag of Haribo and opened the lid, revealing the food within. It seemed normal enough; circular, covered in tomato sauce, and very meaty. It looked a bit like an edible dartboard, each segment filled with either ham, pepperoni, chicken, or beef. Deidara carefully scooped up one of the slices, the melted cheese coming away in gooey strands, and he placed the corner in his mouth, taking a huge bite to emphasise its safety.

He grinned, his voice muffled and his cheeks stuffed in a hamster-like fashion. 'See? It's nice, hm.'

Sasori stared at the food, licking his lips. It was at this unfortunate moment that his stomach decided to make itself known; it gave an embarrassingly loud rumble, begging to be fed. He keeled over and covered it with his arms, colour inadvertently rushing to his cheeks. He inwardly cursed; he'd just humiliated _and _contradicted himself.

To Deidara though, it was inexplicably adorable. He swallowed his mouthful, his grin widening, and he held out the pizza box. 'C'mon, sweetcheeks. Now I know you're hungry…'

Inevitably, this nickname flipped a switch in Sasori. He turned to the blond with a snarl. 'Call me "sweetcheeks" one more time and I'll shove that pizza down your throat, you stupid, arrogant-'

He was cut off when Deidara pushed a slice into his mouth, silencing him.

'You're like a li'l cheeping bird, hm. Now eat up.'

Sasori shot him an icy look, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Grudgingly, he stuffed his iPod in his pocket and took hold of the pizza, pulling it from his mouth and taking a sizeable bite.

Not wishing to spit it out - for such a thing would be vulgar - he huffed and chewed away at it. A tiny part of him died inside when he realised how tasty it was; not too buttery and not too spicy, and the meats blended together exceedingly well.

Needless to say, he continued munching away at the offering, secretly resenting himself in the process. He was starving; he didn't care if it had been spiked, or if his hands were dirty.

Deidara watched, enchanted and fascinated at the same time.

The boy's mouth was tiny, his lips rosy, and he nibbled the outer edge of the treat in a very refined manner. He held the crust between his small, svelte fingers, each mouthful disappearing with a quiet "num" sound, never to be seen again. His cheeks remained free of sauce and no crumbs littered his lap.

It was how pixies ate things; Deidara could easily picture the boy sitting on a mushroom or a maple leaf.

At once, his mind returned to his true motive for coming; to finally score a date with the redhead. It couldn't be that hard; he'd already shown his courteous side. Now he just needed to do a bit of wheedling and a bit of charming, two of his specialities. He gave a fake yawn and stretched his arms above his head, casually bringing one down on the wet pavement behind Sasori. He leaned on his palm, flaunting his toned abdomen and the V-line just above his jeans.

'So,' he began, combing his fringe back with his other hand. 'You wanna see that movie, hm? Tomorrow maybe? I can pick you up at four, or sooner if you can't wait to see me…'

Sasori paused mid-bite of his pizza. He'd already pecked down to the crust, such was his appetite. He sent the blond a sidelong glance, taking in the fishnet-clad abs. How disappointing; the man had morphed back into an egotistical brat.

Nevertheless, Deidara blundered on, completely unaware. He rolled his shoulders. 'We can go to the Sound cinema... I'll get you popcorn or, y'know, whatever you want…'

Sasori narrowed his eyes, unimpressed with the macho attitude. He felt as though he were being hit on by a greasy jerk in a red Ferrari; it was disgusting and it made no sense whatsoever. He'd been to the Sound cinema before - it resided at the top of the high street - but he certainly didn't want to go with this deranged lunatic. It had to be a trick, and it stung more than expected.

He turned his head away. 'That joke isn't funny anymore,' he whispered, monotonously.

Deidara blinked. This was exactly what had happened last time; he didn't understand. 'This ain't no joke, hm. I wanna take you out.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm interested.'

Sasori's head whipped around. Those words had never been thrown in his direction before; they brought an uneasy feeling, the same feeling he'd experienced when reading the blond's sappy post-it note.

'Interested?'

Deidara smiled and set down the pizza box. Then he leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. 'Well yeah; I think you're hella cute, hm.'

He spoke so simply and so honestly, as though he were stating common knowledge. It was weird and Sasori had no idea what to make of it. He knew it couldn't possibly be true; he looked horrendous and he made a special effort to stay hostile. The only words he ever received were "fire-crotch" and "gross", therefore he definitely wasn't "cute". The compliment paralysed him.

Deidara cracked a coltish grin. 'Guess you really are the shy type, hm? Look, how about we try it? C'mon, baby; live a little.'

Sasori cringed. 'If I agree, will you stop calling me that?'

'Yeah, but I'm gonna find something else.'

Well that was a start.

Sasori withdrew into himself, tapping his fingers and mulling everything over. If he declined, he'd keep running into the blond again and again, which would be beyond irritating. It wasn't as if they'd be meeting up in a dark alleyway; they would be going to a public place, a place impossible to cause trouble in without getting caught. If things took a wrong turn, he could easily disappear into the crowd and find a police station. This was also an opportunity to do some dabbling and find a sexual preference, not that he considered the blond a viable candidate.

There was just one problem; if his grandmother and granduncle saw him walking away with the town idiot, they'd become unbearably protective.

Sasori hung his head in defeat and sighed. 'Don't pick me up,' he mumbled. 'I'll take the bus.'

He flinched when he heard Deidara give a cheer and a celebratory fist pump. 'Fuck yeah! Get in, hm!'

Sasori rolled his eyes. Part of him felt instant regret; he'd agreed to give up his first date to an immature cretin. The saddest part was the fact that he couldn't do any better even if he wanted to. This was about as far as his options stretched; a brainless male Barbie who clearly needed a pair of glasses, and possibly a straitjacket. The scent of ash would suffocate him halfway through the film which, now that he thought about it, would probably be a blessing.

Life in a nutshell.

He turned to Deidara with a bored expression, his voice painfully blunt. 'You can go away now.'

'I can, but I don't wanna-'

'Go away.'

Deidara chuckled and stood from the curb, pizza in one hand and Haribo in the other. 'Alright, alright… I was pushing my luck, hm. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? At four?'

Sasori looked up at him and nodded. The streetlight overhead brought out the radiance of his hair colour; though only a few strands could be seen, each one twinkled like a sparkler trail. His eyes were big and wide, like a couple of handcrafted sard marbles, and his tears had all but dried up.

Deidara's stomach did a few backflips; he felt as though he were looking at an oil-painting or a sculpture, one that had been stolen from the National Gallery. He wet his lips and reluctantly began walking up the street backwards, so as to burn the boy's image further into his mind. He knew he was going to get a lot of stick for giving away his friends' food, but he genuinely couldn't care less.

He grinned and blew an air kiss, calling out, 'Bye, bae! Mwah!'

But Sasori's attention had already been reclaimed his iPod. He flicked his index finger across the screen, entering the word "eternal" as his password, and he reopened his playlist. Upon clicking the play arrow, he once again found himself immersed in his own world of woe. He'd paused the song about halfway through and it gave him great pleasure to finally hear the rest of it without being rudely interrupted.

_"Let me raise you up… Let me be your love…"_

* * *

_Quickest update ever. X'D I have a special attachment to that song, guys, and I feel the lyrics really work with the plot of this story. :)_

_So Sasori will be going on his first ever date, but maybe things will start off a little more rickety than first thought. I kinda want this to be a slower, deeper build-up, and hopefully you'll enjoy it. :3_

_I love you all very much, and thank you for the support you're giving me. :D_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.**

* * *

Time management wasn't Deidara's forte.

Makeup, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

To him, cosmetics were nothing less than a drug. He needed his daily dose; he felt naked and disgusting without it. Every morning he would spend eternity primping in front of the bathroom mirror, always agitated and never satisfied, no matter how many adjustments he made. His kit littered the small shelf beneath his reflection; he had primer and powder, blusher and bronzer, pencils and gels, liner, and all manner of other products. As always, the door remained locked and all that could be heard from the outside was the furious blasting of his iPhone; the poor gadget had been given the task of playing _Bangarang _by Skrillex on an infinite loop.

For Deidara, the heavy beat acted as a motivational speech; after all, today was a very important day. Dates required extra care and attention when it came to appearance; he couldn't afford to spare any effort or cut corners with the details because, when it came down to it, Sasori was way of out of his league. He needed to replicate the boy's high standards, otherwise they'd be wandering around as a mismatched pair, like a blond crack-addict and a professional glamour model. Deidara was sure the kid had had a dozen previous relationships as well; he needed to blow those suitors out of the water.

He picked up his concealer brush and began dabbing product beneath his eyes, blending it afterwards with his fingertips. He wasn't girly; he just preferred to look his best, even if it took half a day to achieve.

With that in mind, three o'clock probably hadn't been the best time to start his routine. However, in his defence, the night before had been hectic and he hadn't woken up until twelve. Having already eaten his pizza, he'd had no reason to stay at the parlour; he'd simply dropped the food off and gone about his own business, namely an art spree. What better way to mark his victory than an exhibition? Nothing was more exhilarating than racing through the streets with a lighter and a box of matches. He'd torched several bushes, a couple of trees, and even a dumpster, all of them sacrificed as a symbol of his unwavering love. He'd watched from a safe distance as panic ensued, the flames engulfing everything, their beautiful tongues licking the blackness of the sky.

Needless to say, they reminded him of Sasori's hair. No matter how many fires he started, none of them could compare with the boy's choppy, lambent tresses. They were flawless; it was his dream to comb his fingers through them, to feel how silky they were and to bury his nose in them, maybe even kiss them. What would their scent be? Something fruity like strawberries? Or something subtle like vanilla?

He grinned and snatched up his foundation palette, along with a cleaner, thicker brush. Despite staying up until the early hours of the morning, he'd never felt so confident and energised; desire did strange things to a man. He touched the brush to his cheek and began patting away methodically, like a painter experimenting with watercolour. He alternated between lighter and darker shades, admiring his chin all the while. Of course, he'd shaved for this occasion; he needed to look fresh and approachable.

He wet his lips and tilted his head, mumbling under his breath. 'Highlight… Contour… Fuck yeah… Oh man, I'm on fleek today, hm...'

He then turned his attention to the compact powder, bobbing his head in time with his music. He knew he only had an hour or so to reach the cinema, but everything was under control. He'd chosen to take the car; that way his journey could be cropped and his grooming time could be extended. Granted, he wouldn't be pulling up in a Lotus or a limo, but hopefully it would be enough to convince Sasori that he wasn't a total slob. As far as getting ready was concerned, he'd already showered, dried his hair, dressed, and painted his nails; the final step involved liner and a hefty amount of gel. Then he was good to go, ready to strut his stuff and be a knight in shining armour.

The boy would never cry again; he'd be too busy swooning.

Deidara smirked and gathered some gel on his fingers, ready to set about moulding his fringe. He shaped the hair in such a way that it covered his eye and curved slightly to accommodate his cheek. It wouldn't budge from that position, even if he stood at the eye of a tornado. He used his hands to make two finger guns, clicking his tongue and winking at his reflection.

'Hey, good-lookin', hm,' he purred, sidling up to the mirror. 'Wanna come back to my place and see my _other _piercing? …You do? Well hot damn, I don't know what to say...'

He recoiled when he heard a firm knock at the door. The dubstep all but drowned out the mildly concerned voice of Itachi on the other side of the wood. 'Deidara, are you alright? Aren't you supposed to be going on a date? Pein gave you the afternoon off because of this and you only have about half an hour to get there!'

Deidara slumped forward with an exaggerated sigh, his face heating up. Naturally the tattoo parlour only had one bathroom, so he'd been expecting an interruption at some point. What bothered him was how fatherly Itachi sounded, like a parent urging their child to get ready for school. It wasn't as bad as Konan's cosseting but it was still a form of nagging; he was always viewed as the baby of the group, just because he was the youngest. He was a stallion, not a sheep - he didn't like taking orders.

He growled and picked up his liner, expertly covering the area above his lashes and finishing with a flick. He then moved to do the same to his other eye. 'I've got plenty of time,' he muttered. 'I'm taking the car, hm.'

'Is that so? Well you better step up the pace; I saw Hidan head downstairs a moment ago. He said something about driving to a strip club...'

Deidara's heart stopped. He froze for several seconds, processing the news, before frantically gathering his tools and packing them away. He swiped up a can of Lynx, cursing when he knocked over a tube of moisturiser, and he began chasing the lid as it rolled across the tiled floor. This hadn't been on the agenda; he _needed_ the car. It was an essential part of his plan; without it, he'd be ruined. Why couldn't things run smoothly for once? He had a lot riding on this - his wedding, for example - and yet his co-workers insisted on interfering. His dreams and libido depended on that rickety piece of four-wheeled metal.

He caught the lid after a scramble beneath the sink and, as he moved to stand up, he hit the back of his head on the cast-iron underside. He hissed in pain. 'Agh, fuck! I called that! Itachi, you bastard! Tell him! Tell him I called that, hm!'

'I wish I could help you but he's already out front. Perhaps this will teach you to manage your time a little better? Gentlemen aren't late.'

Deidara swore and began haphazardly stuffing his products in his makeup pouch, zipping it up and leaving it on the shelf before grabbing his phone. He then roughly opened the bathroom door and made a mad dash through the living room towards the stairs, all whilst giving Itachi the middle finger. He neglected to give any thanks for the warning; he had a one-track mind and he wasn't the grateful type.

Nevertheless, Itachi watched him go with a fond smile. There was something endearing about how immature the blond was, about his enthusiasm and lack of planning skills. He was a textbook teenager, constantly making mistakes but never learning from them. It was all the motivation Itachi needed to step in and bring order. He shook his head and made his way over to the adjoining kitchen. He'd saved his Haribo from the night before and now was a good time to relax and treat himself.

Meanwhile Deidara had reached the lower level of the parlour. The atmosphere was typical of a quiet Saturday afternoon; dull yet peaceful, and a number of the employees were missing, presumably out and about. Zetsu stood behind the reception desk, rearranging the decorative pots of succulents, and Konan was busy adjusting the window display. Kisame had taken up his position in the back room, tattoo machine in hand, and a steady whirring could be heard as he tended to a client.

Samehada sprawled obediently by the doorframe, eyes shut and tail swishing happily against the floor. He stood to attention when Deidara entered the room and bounded over and jumped up in greeting. He tried to lick the blond's face, causing the man to stumble backwards in fear of ruining his precious makeup. Saliva narrowly missed his sculpted fringe and two paws hit his chest. All he could do was shield himself with his forearm and screech girlishly. Ironically.

'Samehada, no! Sit! Sit, boy! I don't have time for your shit, hm! Kisame! Help me!'

An amused chuckle came from the back room and the whirring of the tattoo machine came to a temporary halt. Kisame leaned closer to the doorway and grinned with a mouth full of fangs. He slapped his thigh. 'Samehada! Come 'ere, lad...'

The dog instantly retreated upon hearing his master's command, and he leapt over to sit by the tattooist's chair, barking excitedly. Everyone except Deidara started laughing. Even the customer joined in, commenting on how the animal just wanted to play.

Deidara didn't stick around long enough to fight his corner. He just scowled and stormed out of the shop, the bell chime marking his departure. He wasn't in the mood to be toyed with; he had too much at stake and that had been a lucky escape. No one went on a date covered in canine drool - he'd be rejected faster than a pair of Crocs at at boot fair. The situation didn't improve when he stepped outside the shop. What he saw was enough to boil his blood and raise his heartbeat to the heavens.

The tattered black car sat by the curb, the dent in its side as bold as ever and its tires encrusted with dirt. It had already started to pull away; Deidara had to sprint to reach it, and he angrily tapped the window with his knuckle and yelled over the hum of the engine. His face was murderous.

'Hey! …Hey, open up! You son of a bitch, hm!'

The glass rolled down to reveal a very complacent Hidan in the driver's seat, his elbow resting on the window sill. His hair had been slicked back to the point where it looked metallic and he still wore the same hoodie, indicating that it hadn't been washed for days. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

'What?'

Deidara glared at him. 'Get out of the car, hm.'

Hidan sniggered and slapped the steering wheel. He threw his head back in a loud guffaw, his voice mocking and high-pitched. 'Hell no!' he cried. 'Finders keepers! Anyway, why should I after last night? You had one job; bring food. What do you do? Give my slice to some ginger prick!'

Deidara bit his tongue to keep from lashing out. His hands became fists at his sides, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. As much as he wanted to defend Sasori, he didn't have time for a petty argument. That said, he couldn't deny his involvement. He'd returned with a less-than-whole pizza, not one but _two _of the pieces missing. He'd very nearly caused a riot. Thankfully Pein had stepped in with his leadership skills and called "dibs", each of his subordinates hurriedly jumping on the band wagon. Hidan's reaction time had been rather shoddy, hence he'd been left without dinner.

Deidara exhaled through his nose like a bull getting ready to charge. He lowered his voice in a bid to stay reasonable.

'Hidan, I have a date… Don't do this to me…'

'Oh so that's why you gave him food? You selfish git; you'd let me starve just to get some cock!'

'You're supposed to be on a fucking diet, hm...'

'I already told you; I gave up on that crap! The ladies love my physique! What happened to bros before hoes?'

Deidara snapped.

He reached into the car and grabbed Hidan by the front of his hoodie, yanking their faces to close proximity, his eyes flashing. 'Sasori ain't no ho, hm! He's my li'l firefly and if you mess this up so help me I'll throw all of your beer out the nearest fucking window, yeah!'

Hidan hissed and wrenched himself away from his co-worker's grasp, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands. Ignoring the blond's protests, he pushed down on the pedal and began pulling out into the road. Deidara could be seen in the wing mirror, looking both out of place and royally pissed. He tried to run around the back of the car, his shouts bouncing off the dodgy paintwork like bullets.

'You twat, hm! Stop! Give me the fucking car! Hey!'

Hidan ignored him and began driving away, smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe. He peered out of the window and, to add insult to injury, he gave a farewell salute. 'Adieu, bitch! Jashin bless you!'

Now, there are moments in life when you realise that you're thoroughly Deidara, this was one of those moments.

He was powerless. All he could do was stand forlornly at the side of the pavement and watch as his ride was stolen. The car seemed to shrink with distance, fading further and further, until it eventually turned a corner and disappeared entirely. It was being used to visit a house of exotic dancers when in reality it was supposed to carry him to his future spouse. The level of injustice was off the scale.

Deidara now did what any irresponsible teen would do. Panic.

His plan of action had been derailed, leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere with twenty minutes to reach his destination. He had two options; jog or use public transport. Both were impossible - the next bus wasn't due for a long while and running would cause him to sweat. He didn't want Sasori to see him in such a sticky, breathless state, not until they reached fourth base, the prospect of which was looking very bleak at this point...

He swore and kicked the pavement. 'Fuck, hm!'

He wouldn't be taken seriously if he arrived late. It would be nothing short of a disaster.

Terrified, he began looking around for something else to use, anything with a pair of wheels. He honestly would've settled for a skateboard or a segway, or even a shopping trolley. His eyes automatically locked onto the only other vehicle present; Zetsu's motorcycle. It was parked and chained, plastered with botanic decal, and in Deidara's eyes it was the only viable ticket he had. There was just one problem; he had no idea how to drive the damn thing. He spun on his heel and made his way back to the parlour, barging in and rattling the glass panels of the establishment.

Zetsu was still absorbed in his collection of aloe vera and cacti. The plants emerged from rounded pebbles, some of them having so many spines that they looked fluffy. Their pots bounced when Deidara slammed his palms on the surface of the reception counter, his expression urgent.

'Give me a lift,' he demanded.

Zetsu paused, a Burro's Tail in one hand. Then he sunk down into his black turtleneck. '…What?'

'Your bike. Give me a lift, hm.'

Zetsu swallowed and straightened himself up, setting down his plant. 'I can't. I only have one helmet and I can't risk you-'

'Sasori's worth dying for, dammit!'

'Be that as it may, I don't want to attend your funeral.'

Deidara gave a strangled whine and reached up to pull his hair in frustration. Then he realised he wouldn't be able to due to how much product he'd used. Instead he called out to Kisame. 'Hey, I need to ride Samehada, hm!'

The Rottweiler lowered his head between his front paws and gave a confused whimper. Kisame answered on his behalf.

'Fuck no! He's not a horse!'

Deidara sent the dog a wistful look before groaning and exiting the parlour for the second time, completely ignoring Konan's attempts to comfort him. He had no other choice; as futile as it was, he needed to run. So what if he arrived a bit sweaty? He could pass it off as an exercise regime and then Sasori would see him as an athlete. Hotties _loved _athletes. He could also make up for lost time by buying the boy something extra from the snack bar, or by letting the kid choose which film they saw.

He took off down the road as if he were being chased by a pack of wolves. His lungs strained in his chest and he began breathing heavily, his heart thumping in time with his footsteps. His fringe remained perfectly solid, despite his erratic movements, and he felt his body begin to warm up, his skinny jeans restricting his legs. He took great gulps of air, his eyes wide.

'Oh wait for me,' he huffed. 'Wait for me, baby… I'm coming… Dei's coming… Shit…'

Unfortunately, waiting was Sasori's number one pet peeve.

His weekends were generally spent in solitude; he remained cooped up in his bedroom with a pile of homework to stress over. He rarely ventured outside and, if he did, it was to take photos for an art project. Now things had taken an unexpected twist and a wrench had been thrown into his plans.

A blond wrench with a primitive brain, a fake tan, and a language based on grunts.

Needless to say, Sasori found himself regretting the arrangement from the moment he woke up. He'd given himself a chore, not a date. He wasn't excited, he wasn't lovesick, and he certainly wasn't jittery. He'd spent the whole morning with a frown etched into his face and, when Chiyo and Ebizō both mentioned his lack of joy at lunch, he had no choice but to ignore them and continue eating. He couldn't reveal his true intentions; as far as they knew, he was visiting Sai, though that didn't make much sense considering his foul mood.

Trying to boost his passion would be like trying to baptise a cat. No butterflies flew about in his stomach and his heart stayed colder than stone. The only emotion he felt was a mixture of contempt, revulsion, and boredom, and he saw no reason to make a special effort, nothing above a simple long-sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers. It wasn't as if he could hide his ugliness; it was impossible to polish a turd. He'd remain sallow and scrawny for the rest of his life.

Still, apparently Deidara was into that.

Sasori wholeheartedly believed the man was taking something, something stupidly strong and illegal.

Nevertheless, the redhead took pride in his politeness. He'd given his word of his own free will; the decent thing to do would be to show up and _then _hate everything. He despised tardiness, so he'd given himself enough time to make the bus journey, allowing for traffic.

He stood in a nook outside the Sound cinema, huddled away with his jacket cocooning him. The building largely consisted of bricks and glass - an architect's attempt at being "modern" - and movie posters were plastered over some of the empty walls, which formed a sort of cove to the right of the entrance. The setting sun had cast a shadow for Sasori to lurk in and he didn't care how creepy he looked. His head remained bowed, gravity keeping his hood in place, and he wrapped his arms around his body as though he were holding himself together. He viewed his surroundings with callous eyes, his lashes acting as curtains. From this position, he could see every stranger, every girl and every boy, every unhappy mother and spoilt child, every tart and every idiot. They passed back and forth in front of his gaze, entering and exiting the cinema like actors in a play.

He could practically hear them talking about him, mumbling snide comments and looking over their shoulders with stupid grins. They were all so pathetic, caught up in their own pointless lives and not giving a damn about what was going on in reality. He wanted to delete them. If only he had a tool to do so, a magic notebook of death for instance. He'd fill all the pages in a single day...

He grunted and checked his watch, only to discover that the rendezvous time had been and gone. It was nearly twenty minutes past four o'clock and still Deidara had yet to reveal himself. Sasori scanned the streets, searching and searching for the blond ponytail that wasn't there. He scowled.

The man had probably changed his mind, either that or the whole thing had been a set-up right from the start. It wasn't a huge shock. In fact, Sasori had expected nothing less; he was a magnet for bullies and people made a hobby out of toying with him. He was accustomed to disappointment - the only reason he'd arrived at all was to satisfy himself - and yet somehow, deep down in the furthest reaches of his body, he still felt hurt. He felt discouraged, he felt upset, and he felt angry with himself for being such a pushover. He'd spent years building his walls and forging his shields, but none of that mattered because something like this still managed to get beneath his skin.

Rejection was something so small and trivial and predictable, and he was totally defenceless against it.

He was beginning to feel quite self-conscious too. What kind of teenager stood alone outside a movie theatre? He was just asking to be ridiculed and, as much as he enjoyed hating people from a distance, he could easily do it from the confinements of his bedroom. Did he really have nothing better to do with his time than wait for an imaginary date? A date who may or may not be compatible with his sexuality?

He glanced down at his watch again, his brow furrowing. He glared at the tiny second hand as it hopped around in a circle, each jump sapping at what little hope he had. Pretty soon it had completed a full lap of the clock face, signalling that another torturous minute had passed. It was more than enough to push Sasori back into the right gear.

'Screw this,' he muttered, using his elbows to push himself away from the wall.

He stood up straight and began making his way through the crowd of people, wincing whenever someone barged past him. He needed to return home before he wasted more of his precious time; he felt silly just standing there. Luckily the bus stop wasn't far away; it was situated on the opposite side of the road, outside a car dealership, and it wouldn't take long for the red vehicle to loop back on itself. In fact, it pulled up only seconds after Sasori had wished for it to do so. He crossed the road with a somewhat awkward run, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, and he joined the waddling queue on the other side.

He was the last to board and the doors automatically closed behind him, the driver casting him a dirty look. He made his way to the nearest window seat, flopping down into it and staring out into the world he loathed. This incident had been very unproductive and now he had less time to complete his homework, which ruined his schedule. He needed to get a certain amount done before he had his daily shower, otherwise he would be restless for the remainder of the evening.

The more he thought about this, the more furious he became.

He was fuming by the time he got home, even more so when he discovered that the house alarm had been set and that he would need to turn it off. It was situated beneath the stairs and he soon found the reason for its activation when he entered the kitchen to get a glass of milk. A note had been pinned to the front of the fridge with a magnet, the words written in loopy script.

_Gone to bingo - tuna in the cupboard - help yourself. _

Sasori rolled his eyes. 'Such amazing parenting skills,' he drawled, sarcastically. He plucked the note from its position, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the counter, along with his jacket.

He could picture Chiyo and Ebizō's list of priorities. Bingo would be at the top and at the very bottom would be "feed grandchild". Was he really less important than a game? Say the house caught on fire; would they save him or their membership cards?

'Definitely the cards,' he grumbled, pouring himself a tall glass of milk.

It was sad really. He came second to a rolling machine filled with tiny numbered balls.

He lifted his drink to his lips and turned to look out into the garden, the froth giving him a milky moustache which he wiped away with the back of his hand. He'd quench his thirst and then make a start on his math, or perhaps his art. As much as he disliked the subject, it still needed to be done for the following week and he wasn't keen on failing any of his classes. He regretted squandering his time, which begged the question; who was more stupid? The idiot, or the person relying on the idiot?

However unbeknownst to Sasori, the idiot in question had finally arrived at his destination, a grand total of thirty minutes late.

Deidara came sprinting up the street, a flushed mess of blond, and he immediately keeled over outside the cinema, his hands on his thighs for support. Years of smoking hadn't been very kind to his respiratory system and he wasn't used to running long distances. Escaping the police was easy; he could hide in the streets and alleyways, but this was different. His throat stung, his lungs were starved, and beads of sweat had started to form on his forehead, causing his elaborate fringe to subside. His muscles flexed with each breath he took and his chest stretched the fibres of his fishnet shirt. A couple of women sent him flirtatious smiles as they passed by, not that he noticed.

He was too busy panting and staring at the cracks in the pavement.

Then he straightened up, his hair flopping against his back, and he began scouring the area, rasping under his breath. 'Shit… I'm here… I'm here, baby… Where are you? …Sasori?'

His eyes flicked through the crowd, his mind ticking off everything he saw. A few young ladies, a mother with a pram, a couple of kids… The more he looked, the further his heart sank. He couldn't catch even a glimpse of red. Correction; he could see red bags, red coats, a red scarf, and even a red DS console, but he couldn't locate the special shade he'd fallen for. His date was supposed to be tucked away somewhere, wrapped in a jacket like a butterfly in a chrysalis. Instead, all that could be seen was a heaving mass of everyday folk.

Deidara swore and staggered towards the entrance of the cinema, praying that the boy had wandered inside for whatever reason. This theory was ultimately disproven; Sasori wasn't at the snack bar, he wasn't near the counter, and he wasn't standing outside the restrooms. There was a chance that he'd gone to relieve himself but Deidara knew better.

Sasori had given up waiting. Either that or he hadn't bothered to show up in the first place.

Deidara groaned loudly, his face scrunched in anguish, and he threw his head back in disappointment. 'No, no, no… Fuck! C'mon! You gotta be shittin' me!'

The receptionist sent him a stern look, warning him not to be profane. Not that he cared. He ran his fingers through the roots of his hair, grimacing at how much he'd actually perspired. He looked terrible, he felt terrible, and he'd missed his chance. Half an hour was a long time to leave a person hanging, especially when that person was grumpy and their favour was pending. He'd just knocked himself down a few pegs; relationships required a certain amount of reliance and effort, and he wasn't giving out the best message.

Actually, it wasn't his fault; he was a romance specialist.

Hidan was the real culprit. Things would've been fine if the car hadn't been hijacked.

Reserved people were like oranges; all they needed was a poke in the right spot and eventually they could be peeled open. Sasori was more like a chestnut; he had a tough, spiky shell and - thanks to one moronic co-worker - that shell had likely doubled in thickness.

Deidara turned and exited the cinema, an enraged look on his face.

'Hidan, I'm going to wring your greasy neck, hm,' he muttered, hurriedly taking off down the street once more and dodging anyone in his path.

Some people would accept defeat when faced with a situation like this, or they'd be too embarrassed to do anything about it. Deidara wasn't going to take that route; those people were single and quitting just wasn't his style. He knew Sasori's address and he intended to visit the boy in person and apologise. He could only imagine how pissed the redhead was; the kid would probably explode like a little volcano and, as cute was that was, it meant the chances of them rescheduling were very slim. An explanation wouldn't turn back time, but Deidara found himself clinging to the hope that it somehow would.

He didn't mind running another mile or two either, not that he had a choice. Judging by the lack of people at the bus stop, the vehicle had recently departed and he certainly didn't want to wait for the next one. No, he had to continue his marathon from earlier and clean up Hidan's mess. His muscles ached and he had a cramp in left side, but he wasn't ready to throw in the towel.

It took him another thirty minutes to reach Sasori's house and, by the time he did, he was a complete wreck, so much so that he didn't actually do anything for a while. He simply stayed hunched over on the front porch, gasping for air and smoothing down his mane to make himself look presentable. It gave him a major sense of déjà vu; he'd been in this position only a few days ago, when he'd first sought sanctuary from the police. He reached up and began pressing the doorbell repeatedly, not caring for the consequences or if the boy's parents were at home.

No, he was panicking like a child who'd missed his curfew. His eyes were wide and pleading.

'Please answer, please answer… C'mon, c'mon… I'm sorry, baby… Come out already, hm...'

Meanwhile, Sasori sat in his room as he usually did. He'd decided to go against using his desk and instead he'd built a small nest on the carpet; workbooks were spread around him in an arc, like a dull rainbow, and a new onion sat next to him. He held a stick of charcoal in one hand and he'd curled up next to his sketch pad. He'd taken to experimenting with other mediums, combining them in an attempt to kick-start his creativity, but it wasn't working; his talent had evaporated and, no matter what tools he used, he couldn't seem to earn it back again.

It didn't matter how an onion was drawn. It would forever be an onion and onions weren't known for being impressive. All they did was make people cry.

That, and the charcoal smudged easily. Sasori knew he could use this to his advantage but it blackened the skin of his fingers more than it did the paper. He looked as though he'd been digging through soot and he felt like a chimneysweep. Then again, that _was_ probably the only job he could aim for.

He flinched when he heard the doorbell. The sound came barreling out of nowhere, irritatingly optimistic, and it echoed through the otherwise empty house. It happened not once, not twice, but for what seemed like a billion times, a constant stream of noise.

Sasori snapped his stick of charcoal into two pieces and an ominous growl came from deep within his throat. Each happy ding-dong was a stake through the heart. The world was definitely against him. His ears were being assaulted, his art sucked, and he could feel the onion staring into his soul.

Normally he wasn't too comfortable answering the door when his guardians weren't home, partly because it could be a murderer, partly because he'd have to talk to someone, and partly because of his looks.

Now though, it was just making him mad.

He discarded the charcoal and stood up, dashing to his window with purposeful strides, his curls bobbing. Thankfully his bedroom was situated at the front of the house, so all he had to do was glance down at the driveway. He'd expected to the culprit to be a snotty ten-year-old and, when he spotted Deidara, he decided that he'd guessed right.

After all they probably had the same IQ.

One thing was for sure; he wasn't in the right frame of mind to make an appearance. He felt justifiably bitter - that imbecile had abandoned him. Lateness meant laziness and all it did was prove how blasé Deidara's attitude was when it came to commitment. Sasori wanted no part in that; it was extra baggage. He looked down through the glass with a pair of vindictive eyes, like a hawk watching a rabbit from its perch. He could see Deidara's index finger continuously tapping away at the doorbell with a complete disregard for manners. It was the sort of thing children did and the incessant ringing was slowly pushing Sasori over the edge, inch by inch. He wasn't a very tolerant person and, after about twenty seconds of putting up with the chimes, he could stand it no longer.

He left his bedroom and made his way downstairs, his eyes scorching and his lips clamped shut. He felt insulted to have to deal with something like this and, when he opened the door partway, the sight that greeted him was hardly prepossessing. Now he could see the blond close up; the man looked like an ice-cream on a hot summer's day. His fringe had fallen across his face, the strands separating, and his skin glistened with sweat. As always, the smell of smoke hung in the air.

Deidara lifted his head, his hand leaving the doorbell and falling to his side. He felt sore all over but the suddenly the pain was washed away, as if someone had splashed him with water.

Sasori was peering out from between the door and the doorframe like a field vole. His eyes were narrowed, fixed in a glare, and he wore no hooded jacket to cover his hair. Each strand seemed so rich even when hidden in shadow and the whole scene looked like an illustration from a wildlife book, like a fox emerging from its burrow. It was so enchanting that Deidara failed to register how annoyed the boy looked.

He offered a weak grin and slurred, 'Hey, dollface, hm…'

Sasori shot him a look of utter contempt and roughly shut the door, or at least that's what he tried to do. Instead, the motion came to an abrupt halt and was punctuated by a hiss of pain.

'Fuck!'

Sasori looked down only to discover that Deidara had wedged his foot against the doorframe, preventing the hinged barrier from closing. He wore black converse shoes, the colour matching his skinny jeans, and the laces had been tied up rather poorly. A cartoonish explosion had also been painted on the side in red and yellow, with the word "bang" printed in comic lettering.

It was far too tempting. Sasori couldn't resist pulling the door back for a second time, ready to slam it with all his might and block out the intruder once and for all. He paused when he heard a terrified voice on the other side of the divider.

'Stop! Please! I love my feet! Walking is the greatest joy in my life - I can explain everything, I swear!'

How pathetic.

Sasori grunted. His surge of animosity came to a halt and the more reasonable part of his brain decided to speak up. As much as he despised his visitor, he didn't want to send the man to A &amp; E. That would bring up a host of new problems and he didn't fancy a trip to the hospital. Infirmaries were supposed to be sanitary places but they were filled to the brim with sick people, which was a huge juxtaposition in Sasori's eyes. He hated being breathed on, let alone being sneezed or coughed over. He grudgingly eased the door open, this time stepping out and revealing himself completely. He folded his arms across his chest and drew himself up to his full height.

'So explain,' he commanded, his voice deathly quiet.

Deidara hastily withdrew his foot, knowing full well that it could be squashed at any second. He floundered for a bit and his explanation included an array of hand gestures. 'Yeah, well, uh… Y'see, I had a plan and like, things were going good, y'know? And then Hidan comes in with his bullshit and steals the fucking car, so then I'm like; hell no, you did not just do that, hm, and then I leg it and you aren't there, so I'm like; shit, now what do I do? Like, what the fuck? You get me?'

Silence.

Sasori stared straight ahead. His mind struggled to process the number of times he'd heard the words "and" and "like". What kind of language was that? Was that how stupid people communicated? And who was Hidan? Were there more people like Deidara? Oh good Lord, that was a depressing thought. Sasori could see the universe crumbling right before his eyes. This was conclusive proof that evolution had messed up somewhere.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes flicking up and locking onto their target with the accuracy of a sniper rifle.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shut this door.'

Deidara sucked in his cheeks, his lips puckering, and he fiddled with his tongue piercing. After an awkward moment and a lot of deep thinking, he smiled and cocked his head to the side, his cheeky blue eyes shining like gems.

'Because I'm…cute?'

It sounded more like a question than a statement, and an entertaining question at that. Kittens were cute, ducklings were cute, but this sorry excuse for a human being? Absolutely not; the idea was laughable. In fact, that's exactly what Sasori did. He gave a dry chuckle and leaned against the doorframe, a look of arrogance on his face. 'You're being awfully presumptuous, wouldn't you say?'

Deidara perked up, grinning hopefully. 'Presumptuous? You mean like, delicious? 'Cause you can have a slice of me anytime-'

'It means you're being overconfident, idiot.'

'Hey now, I'm just aware of how awesome I am.'

'Oh really? And I suppose that's why you're sitting on my front porch begging like a puppy?'

'Well I wouldn't say no to a belly rub, hm.'

At this, Sasori inadvertently allowed his mask to crack. His lips curved into something that could be considered a wry smile, but only just. It seemed he was arguing with someone who had a counter for everything, and he couldn't help but find those words relatively funny; they were just so absurd and irrelevant.

Deidara picked up on this reaction and a lightbulb went off inside his head. Of course! Comedy was a sure-fire way of getting into anyone's good books! All he had to do was cater to the boy's sense of humour!

He licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, flaunting his biceps as he did so. He sent Sasori a flirty look.

'Or if you like dogs that much...I could hump your leg.'

Sasori's face contorted in disgust and he took a step back, his eyes wide. He looked appalled.

Alright, apparently dirty jokes weren't on the table.

Deidara laughed nervously and scrambled to sew everything back together in his own slapdash way.

'Uh, I mean, no… That's nasty, hm… Haha…ha...'

Sasori twitched.

'Why are you here? Can't you find some traffic to play in?'

'Ouch. Don't be salty, bae; I'm here 'cause I wanna try again, yeah? Like, tomorrow?'

'Try again? I bet you've been "trying again" your whole goddamn life!'

'But, sweetlips-'

'Don't call me that! I'm not wasting anymore time on you! I have better things to do!'

'…No offence, sugar, but I'm the finest thing you're ever gonna do, hm.'

Sasori bristled, his lips pursing and his cheeks flushing a deep red; they looked like ripe pomegranates. Embarrassment flooded his body; he couldn't win the argument _and_ he was being exposed to crude innuendos. It was rare for someone to be openly suggestive towards him and, when they were, they weren't serious. The only thing he could do now was hide his face behind the door and pray that his bashfulness would go unnoticed. It was completely out of character and he didn't want to appear too childish.

Deidara grinned coltishly and craned his neck in an attempt to see more of his crush. He could tell the boy was blushing but he'd only caught a fleeting glimpse. He wanted to see more; it had to be the most adorable sight in the history of mankind. He also had the insane urge to smoosh the redhead's chubby cheeks together. They were so cute!

He made a kissing sound and lowered his voice.

'Aw, did I hit a nerve? Sorry, hun… C'mon… You don't need to be shy around me, hm. I just need another chance… We can go anywhere you like…'

On the other side of the wood, Sasori cupped his cheeks with his palms and pinched them to investigate their plumpness. He frowned at how hot and fat they felt. They were like balloons and they could be used to fry eggs. He refused to allow himself to be seen in such a state; he already had enough of the colour red on his body and now his head probably looked like a tomato; a spherical tomato with gigantic eyes and a puny nose. How long would it take for the blood to drain away? Too long in Sasori's opinion. It didn't help that he had a dumb blond padding around outside like a stray cat waiting for leftovers.

He grimaced.

'Go away.'

'Gimme a date.'

'Please go away.'

'Please gimme a date, hm. C'mon… One more… Anywhere you want… You name it…'

Sasori gave a sigh of exasperation and placed his left hand across the bridge of his nose, shielding his cheeks from view. Then he revealed himself, looking vexed to say the least.

'Anywhere?' he asked, his mouth partially hidden by his palm.

Deidara melted inside.

The boy was using his hand as a masquerade mask but it didn't quite work. His ears could still be seen; they were pink and rounded, hidden in-between curls of hair. The lobes looked so soft; Deidara could easily see himself nibbling them.

He smiled warmly and spread his hands in an arc. 'Anywhere at all,' he said. 'The world is your oyster and I'm your pearl, hm.'

Sasori eyed him carefully, mulling everything over. If anyone deserved a medal for persistence, it would be this man. Sasori didn't want another date; he'd learned his lesson and there were only two days in a weekend, two days that were meant to be reserved for homework. He knew exactly what would happen if he denied though; he'd go back inside the house and the doorbell would start having a fit again. Did he really want to put up with that? What if Chiyo and Ebizō returned from bingo? Granted, they came home late, but there was a high chance that Deidara would build a tent in the driveway. It would be pandemonium.

Sasori's stomach twisted at the mere thought.

He spoke again.

'I choose the park,' he said, sternly. 'Konoha park. I will not wait a minute over three o'clock and this is your last chance, is that understood?'

Deidara could've done a few cartwheels right then and there. Parks weren't his idea of fun - he preferred bars and clubs - but he wasn't going to complain. Instead he grinned and performed a mock salute. 'Yessir!' He stuck out his hand. 'Shake on it, hm?'

Sasori sneered. The palm tattoo seemed to stick its tongue out at him, daring him to accept the offer. He had no idea where it had been. Sure, it _looked_ clean, but there was a good chance that Deidara hadn't washed his hands for a minimum of three years, assuming he knew how to do so at all. He was probably crawling with various bugs and microbes...

Deidara waved his hand encouragingly.

'I won't bite, hm. Unless you're into that…'

Sasori shot him a testy look and decided to comply, only to shut the man up. He tentatively reached out with his right hand, keeping the other against his face. He didn't have to extend the full distance; he was met halfway and caught in a tight grip.

The first thing Deidara noticed about Sasori's hand was how incredibly small it was.

It wasn't coarse or masculine, and it didn't weigh very much at all. On the contrary; it was cold and soft, and it seemed to be fashioned out of marshmallow. Deidara's hands were like shovels in comparison and he made a conscious effort to loosen his grip, so as to avoid crushing anything. The bones felt so thin and even the slightest amount of pressure would cause bruising. He ran his thumb over the back of the boy's hand, admiring the smoothness of the skin, and he lifted it up a bit to inspect the fingers. They were long and delicate, the thumb and index smudged with black powder, the nails well-trimmed and a healthy rosy colour. Each digit could probably be dislocated with a single tug.

It was the hand of an ice sculpture or a ceramic statue.

Sasori soon noticed that he was being scrutinised. He took up a defensive stance, ready to pull his hand away and make a run for it.

'What?'

Deidara's gaze remained glued to the fragile limb in his grasp. His lips slowly curved at the corners.

'Your hands are tiny, hm. It's fucking adorable… They're like li'l mouse hands…'

Before he could receive protest or insult, he lifted the hand to his mouth and planted a gentle kiss between the knuckles. The texture really was just like that of an ornament; crisp and silky, and it left his lips feeling tingly. It was a wonderful sensation that spread through his entire body, all the way down to his toes, and it stole away the uncomfortable heat that he'd built up when running. It was midway between kissing a snowball and kissing a cloud, neither of which could compare. He wanted more, to lift the sleeve of Sasori's shirt and litter kisses along the boy's pale arm, right up to the shoulders and the neck and the ears, and then everywhere else.

Sasori didn't experience the same spark.

'Ugh!'

He jerked his hand away and began obsessively wiping it on his front, his face a picture of outrage. For him, the sacred rule of human contact had been violated. He actually had someone else's saliva on his skin! He could feel it burning! It was weird and wrong and wet! He'd let his guard down and now he'd just been given a hefty dose of germs, not to mention whatever else the blond had smeared across his lips; balm, perhaps? Or gloss? That wouldn't be surprising.

Gross.

He growled and went to slap his attacker, which was difficult considering he could only use one hand; the other was being used to hide his scarlet cheeks. Deidara ducked at the last second, an impish grin scrawled across his face, and he laughed as he dodged the following swipes. Nothing could upset him now; he felt buzzed, as though he'd taken some sort of drug. He was just thankful that the boy didn't have a knife this time. Besides, the rant he was listening to was actually rather charming…in a cruel way.

'You're disgusting! Do you have any idea how many diseases you've just given me?! That's the last time I'm trusting you! How dare you shower me with your filth!'

'I'll shower you with a lot more than that, love, hm!'

'Yuck!'

'Hey, you might like it! I mean, you like milk, right?'

'Get away from my house this instant!'

'Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a twist-'

'I do _not_ wear panties!'

'Too bad; it would be so hot if you did, hm…'

By now Sasori's face had lit up like a lava lamp, so much so that his hand only covered a portion of his blush. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; no matter what he said, his words were warped into something perverted. He wasn't a very bawdy person so now he was completely out of his depth. On top of that, he still couldn't tell whether or not the blond was making fun of him; he hated being the punchline of every joke.

His mind wasn't on his side either; it was too busy conjuring unwanted imagery, namely the frilly pairs of underwear he'd seen women wear in television ads. To actually put them on… To grant Deidara's disgusting fantasy...

Sasori exploded.

He pointed across the road and hissed, 'That's it! If you don't leave right now, I'm… I'm…'

'You're what?'

'I'm… I'm calling the police!'

Well that certainly did the trick. Deidara knew he'd pushed the boundaries a bit too far and he had enough sense in his body to make quick getaway. He took off at the speed of light, beaming all the while, and sprinted down the street, forgetting how much pain running had caused him the first time around. It was like he'd been given a new lease of life - a new pair of legs - and not even the thought of dealing with Hidan could dampen his spirit. To say his heart was beating fast would be an understatement; it was hammering away like horses' hooves on a cobbled path, and not because of the exercise.

He could feel Sasori's skin on his lips and oh God, was it perfect. He wanted to gobble the boy up.

He looked over his shoulder and called out shamelessly, wind rushing past his ears.

'I regret nothing, hm!'

Sasori heard these faint words but gave no reply. He looked on with an austere expression and, now that he was alone, he lowered his left hand from his face.

He glared at the back of his right one.

It might as well have been prosthetic; it felt so foreign to him now. Deidara's greedy mouth seemed to linger in one place; it had left its own signature, one that was warm and moist, and most likely teeming with bacteria. Sasori could feel himself slowly becoming infested with parasites; it was similar to pins and needles, and it surged through the veins of his arm. The freaky part was that it wasn't entirely unpleasant; the prickles seemed to coil around him and in him and over him, like some sort of invisible snake. They bubbled up from his stomach and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

He felt like a candle - his head was on fire and the rest of him was slowly being melted beneath his own heat.

He hurried back inside the house, closing the door after him, and he sprang towards the kitchen. He huddled over at the sink for a good while, lathering his hands in soap and washing them over and over again. He cleaned every inch of them; the palms, the nails, the fingers, the knuckles, and even the wrists… He used a flannel and a sponge, and he even went so far as to grab the roll of paper towels on the counter. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't rid himself of the odd feeling that swirled inside him; it was a curse and he was stuck with it.

Eventually he resorted to his trusty bottle of hand sanitiser, which he usually kept in his school satchel. He placed a dollop of the solution in his hands and rubbed them together, giving his skin a sort of icy sheen.

This also failed to work. The blond ignoramus had doused him with some mysterious, stubborn chemical.

He grasped his hair out of frustration and growled, his eyes searching around the room for something else, anything that would give him the level of hygiene he desired.

'Ugh… This is just brilliant… What do I even…?'

Then it hit him.

He hadn't just been given a ton of germs; he'd been given something else too, something dreadful and meaningless and cliché, something that was hopefully temporary.

Butterflies.

'Oh good Lord…'

* * *

_So the first "date" didn't go quite as planned... You can blame Hidan, bros; that guy is good at stirring up trouble. Well done, ReEna-Kk. ;) Also, Dei isn't the brightest crayon in the box. XD_

_Don't worry though; success is just around the corner, and the following chappie will probably be another long one. I have some cute moments planned; Saso will get another dose of those pesky butterflies. :3_

_I really hope you enjoyed reading this one, and I've already started the next; things are picking up and I owe it all to you guys! I'm sending you psychic hugs! :D_

_Love you lots! Wherever you are, I wish you the best! Mwah! x_


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